


When It Gets to Be Too Much

by TheArtStudentYouHate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bandages, Couch Sex, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Death, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Anthea, Protective Greg, Therapy, Vulnerable Mycroft, description of violence and suicide in the final problem, s4 compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-04 02:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10265258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtStudentYouHate/pseuds/TheArtStudentYouHate
Summary: Mycroft doesn't need therapy. Obviously. So why is everyone trying to convince him to go and why doesn't anyone have any regular bandages?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I need to thank both Beltainefaerie and Hums-Happily for both betaing this. I am so thankful for you two, you have no clue. Also, major thanks to Janto321 for forcing me to write and publish this. I hope you enjoy it.

“Sir? Are you alright?” Mycroft spat the last chunks of vomit into the rubbish bin he held in front of him. He heard the door open.

“O’Bryn. Go take these files to the PM’s secretary. I’ll see to Mr. Holmes.” Anthea ordered. Mycroft didn’t look up as the young man took the files from Anthea and hurried out the door. No doubt terrified about the state of his job. Anthea moved quietly about his office getting a glass of water and the anti-nausea pills she now kept close by all of the time.

“What was it this time, sir?” She asked as she placed the water on his desk slightly harder than necessary.

“Just an upset stomach. Something I ate at lunch perhaps.” He finally looked up at her and tried to give a reassuring smile.

“You haven’t eaten lunch today.” She didn’t smile back.

“Something at breakfast then.” He set the rubbish bin back on the floor.

“You had a cup of tea and a half a slice of toast with marmalade for breakfast. I know. I got it for you.” She quirked an eyebrow. “So. What happened this time?”

Mycroft looked down at the desk. Embarrassed and ashamed. “I gave myself a paper cut and... accidentally saw the blood.”

Anthea sighed. “Here. Let me see it.” Mycroft cowered ever so slightly. “You don’t have to look. Just let me put a plaster on it.” She ran back to her desk and retrieved the small first aid kit she kept there. She pulled out an antiseptic wipe and plaster. She held out her hand expectantly and Mycroft very hesitantly placed his hand in hers and turned his head to look at the wall. His other hand clenching under the desk.

She carefully dabbed at the small cut.

“You haven’t gone to see a therapist yet,” she accused.

“Haven’t had the time,”

“I’m the one who makes your schedule.”

She very softly smoothed a plaster over the injured area.

Mycroft quickly pulled his hand back and cradled it to his chest. He knew he was being ridiculous and over dramatic, which admittedly wasn’t terribly unusual, but not over something as silly as this. He gulped a bit and glanced down at the plaster on his hand. He frowned.

“It’s pink,”

“Yes.”

“It’s got… cupcakes on it.”

“Very observant, sir.”

“Oh, shut up. Where are the regular ones?” Mycroft was getting frustrated. Was she making fun of him?

“I ran out, sir. Sorry.” She seemed genuinely apologetic.

“Why would you even have these? What is the purpose of them?” He was unexpectedly fascinated by this.

“My nieces are clumsy and think that they’re cute.”

“Yes, well, make sure to stock up on the regular fabric ones.” Mycroft didn’t take his eyes off of the bright pink bandage.

“Of course, sir. If you’ll hand me that rubbish bin, please. I’ll make sure it’s cleaned properly.”

Mycroft handed it over absentmindedly. He took another sip of water and shook his head and focused back on his work, carefully avoiding any more paper cuts.

 ***

A few hours later his phone buzzed, indicating a text message from Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

-Hey Mycroft. Figured I’d see how you’re doing. Been a week or so. Fancy grabbing dinner tonight?-

Mycroft sat back in his chair, stretching. He didn’t have anything terribly important tonight and ever since… that day, Sherlock had been keeping a protective eye over him. If he didn’t go, there was a very good chance he’d have Sherlock pestering him later asking if he was ok and why he hadn’t gone. Probably better to just go than. Make it quick. Don’t stay for dessert.

-That sounds quite acceptable. Shall I send a car to pick you up?-

-Nah. I’ve got my car, if you don’t mind riding shotgun in a Civic ;)-

Mycroft took a deep breath.

-I don’t mind at all. Just come by when you’re finished. I’ll tell security ahead of time.-

Well. That went just fine. A completely normal text conversation between two adults planning a dinner… date? Appointment. A dinner appointment where Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade would pretend to be interested in his mental health by asking questions that avoided asking about his mental health, because he didn’t want to seem like he was prying. So, they would talk about everything else in their day, as much as Mycroft could, anyway and Gregory would be charming and say something funny that would make Mycroft smile and Gregory’s smile would grow even brighter and Mycroft would have to sit there, reminding himself that this was an appointment and not a dinner date. The winky face emoticon was simply because Gregory was a cheeky, charming, handsome bastard.

-Sounds great! I’m off around 6, so sometime after that. See you later ;)-

Damn.

Another winky face. How was Mycroft supposed to make it through this dinner… appointment without blushing like some teenage girl. He glanced again at the cupcakes on the plaster wrapped around his right index finger, before huffing out a breath and set out to try to work again without thinking about Gregory Lestrade.

***

It was 7 O’clock when there was a quiet knock at the door and Mycroft distractedly told whomever was there to enter, before remembering who it was. His jaw clenched slightly as he hadn’t put on his suit jacket and realised that his hair must look a right state from running his hands through it.

“Oh. _Lestrade._ Yes of course. Do come in. I lost track of time. Please forgive me.”

“No problem. Happens to me all the time.”

Gregory was tanned and wearing a dark blue button up shirt that offset his silver hair. He was holding a small bouquet of daisies.

“I felt a bit silly coming empty handed. I know it’s stupid, but Mum was always insistent on these sorts of things. Hope you don’t mind.” He smiled nervously.

Mycroft’s mind flashed back Sherlock pointing a gun at him.

  
_No flowers. My request._  
  
He stared intensely at the flowers and gulped. “No. Of course… course not.” He raised his eyes up to Gregory’s and gave him a reassuring smile before quickly glancing behind him and grabbing the first vase like thing he could find.

“This should hold them nicely.” He held it in front of him and finally looked at it. He couldn’t help his eyes widening slightly as he realised that what he had grabbed was a 15th century vase from France, gifted to him from the French ambassador.

“Are you sure? That looks pretty fancy. These are nice, but I did just pick them up from the florist around the corner of NSY.”

“Of course I’m sure. They’ll look lovely in this.” Mycroft awkwardly reached out for the flowers and delicately sat them in the vase. He grabbed the rest of his glass of water he hadn’t finished and nervously bit his lip before pouring it into the vase for the flowers.

“See. All is well. I’ll just set them here,” he placed the vase back on the shelf. “Thank you, Detective Inspector. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“Greg, please. We’ve known each other long enough to go by first names, don’t you think?”

Mycroft smiled. “Gregory then.” Greg huffed out a chuckle.

“Shall we get going, then?”

“Yes. Of course.” Mycroft was slipping on his suit jacket.

Together they walked out of his office and towards the car park.

“I did try to tidy it up a bit, but yeah. It’s not much.” Greg looked bashful.

“Worry not, Gregory. This is fine.” Mycroft smiled. “It’ll do the trick, I’m sure.”

Mycroft had to practically fold himself in half to fit in the car. He ignored Gregory’s chuckle.

“Which restaurant did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking we could actually maybe pick up some take away from your favourite Indian restaurant and take it back to my place. More comfy that way. Only if you want to, though. We could also go to a restaurant too, of course.”

Oh. Gregory had remembered his favourite restaurant.

Mycroft licked his bottom lip in a nervous fashion. He and Greg had had dinner once before. Greg was kind and had tried to seem friendly, as if he wasn’t just doing this because Sherlock told him too. Still, he could tell that Greg wasn’t comfortable asking any questions about anything important. Maybe he thought that privacy would help him feel more comfortable to ask.

Mycroft wasn’t sure he was ready to answer questions about that day. Anthea was always pestering him to go see a therapist, but what could anyone possibly say when they found out that he allowed his incarcerated, insane, genius sister to spend five minutes with another insane genius who then five years later enslaved the entire prison, caused someone to shoot themselves in the head in front of him, made him stand idly by while his younger brother tried to convince someone to tell him they love him, and then tried to force said younger brother to choose between him or his now romantic partner, John Watson before finally locking him in her former cell? He took a deep breath, reigning in the panic that seemed to rise at any thoughts

“I’m sure your house will be lovely,” he finally replied.

Greg navigated the London roads.

“What happened to your finger?”

Mycroft’s brow furrowed slightly. “Oh. Just a paper cut. The dangers of too much paperwork. The pink is a little garish, but I’m sure I can just take it off when I get home.”

“I like the pink and, what is that, cupcakes?” He kept his eyes on the road but his mouth quirked in a slight grin. “Looks cheery. It’s nice.” Mycroft flushed ever so slightly.

They pulled up to the restaurant and walked inside.

“For take out, please. One chicken tikka masala and one…” he looked towards Mycroft

“Tofu vindaloo, please.”

“The server smiled at them and placed the order. There was a very small disagreement about who would pay, but Greg won when he reminded Mycroft that it was he who had invited him out.

“Are you vegetarian?”

“Mmmm,” he hummed, nonchalantly. “Why do you ask?”

“Just last time we went out you ordered the vegetarian option as well. Have you been a vegetarian for a long time?”

“No. It’s fairly recent.” Greg nodded. Mycroft didn’t add the fact that after seeing someone blow their brains out in front of you, you tend to lose your appetite for meat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ummm... there's some couch sex in this chapter so, enjoy.

“Well. This is it,” Greg announced as they entered the flat. “I’ll go get some plates. Do you want to watch a film or something?”

“I suppose.” Mycroft was confused. He had thought that Greg was going to ask him all about what had happened that day in Sherrinford.

“The dvds are in the cabinet next to the… oh.” Greg looked over to see that Mycroft was already perusing the shelf.

Mycroft’s eyes widened as he saw some of the dvds on his shelf. There were the ones he expected, The Bond films, Die Hard, and V for Vendetta; but there was also a few of Mycroft’s very favourite films. The ones he would deny ever knowing. The ones that if his mother brought them up he would roll his eyes so that everyone in the room knew how ridiculous he thought they were. The films that he knew every word too and couldn’t help but smile as he watched them. The films he knew wouldn’t normally be in Gregory Lestrade’s personal dvd collection.

His hand hovered over the selection.

“Anything look interesting? I could maybe find something online if that would be better. Sorry. I know it’s a lot of action flicks, probably not what you need right now.”

“You seem to have some other films. In fact I’m surprised you have them, Gregory.” There was a slightly accusatory tone to Mycroft’s voice.

“Yeah, well, I can’t just watch action stuff. Man’s gotta have options.”

“Right, so which one of those is your favourites?” Mycroft stood ramrod straight.

“Uh. The one called umm…  Love… on the… Run?”

 _Damn._ That was actually one of the titles.

“Did you pick one out? I’ve got supper plated.” Greg was walking into the living room.

Mycroft could have gone with the safe choice, but Casablanca felt like too much right now. So, he instead put Lady be Bad in the dvd player and sat back on the couch. Greg handed him his food and sat on the opposite end of the couch.

“I didn’t actually remember the name of any of the movies. Sherlock, he told me some of your favourite films and I picked some of them up in case you came to my place. I’m not trying to embarrass you, I just wanted you to feel comfortable.”

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“No. Of course not. I’m happy if you’re happy. Please just feel free to put your feet up and enjoy a movie.”

“You’re not asking me about what happened.” Mycroft gave him a quizzical expression.

“I know what happened. It was terrible.”

“Most people are trying to get me to talk about it. For God’s sake, even Sherlock is clucking over me like a mother hen.”

“Well, I’m not saying you shouldn’t talk to someone. Seeing a therapist would be a good idea and if you ever need to talk, you can of course come to me, but sometimes people don’t want that right away. Look. I’ll be honest. Sherlock and Anthea have both told me that you’re not talking about it, so I figured that maybe it’s best just to try and make you as happy as I can right now. So, if that means watching one of your favourite films and snuggling back on the couch with some good food, than that’s what we’ll do. Is that ok?”

Mycroft stared at him for a moment before finally replying, “Yes. That’s fine.” Greg nodded and Mycroft pushed play.

At some point early into the movie, Greg got up and got them both a drink as Mycroft lost himself in the silly romantic detective story he knew oh so well.

“You really like this movie.” Greg broke the silence. Mycroft was embarrassed to find that he had been smiling. He cleared his throat and gave his head a shake. “Please don’t stop smiling because of me. I’m sorry I said anything. It’s just so nice to see you enjoy something. I’ve never seen you smile like that before.”

“Like what before?”  
  
“Like you’re genuinely happy. You aren’t thinking about your smile, you’re just smiling.” Mycroft sent up a silent prayer that Greg couldn’t see him flush in the dark.

“This was one of Mummy’s favourites. I was entranced. The mystery, the romance. It was silly, I know, but they seemed so elegant and fantastical. I could escape for two hours. And from there I looked into the film noir genre and with those they were going on adventures and finding romance… I,” he took a sip of his drink, “I was overweight as a child. I suppose I lived a bit vicariously through them.”

“We all need to escape sometimes. It’s fun to try to imagine yourself as the hero finding your own leading lady.”

“In my case it was finding my own leading man.”

“In my case it could have been either.”

“I hadn’t realised.” Mycroft finished his drink.

“Yeah. Guess I kinda started realising it when I was a teenager. I experimented a bit, but then I started as a cop and things were different back then, as you know. So, I met Caitlin and we were in love, but young and dumb and things fell apart and now I’m here, I guess. Sorry. That was a lot.”

“No. Not at all. We haven’t talked about you, really. Just Sherlock mainly. I should’ve asked more about you, Gregory. I’m sorry.”

“Sherlock was what was important then. I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Somebody has to worry about you,” Mycroft said in nearly a whisper.

The movie was still playing in the background, but they were both ignoring it. Somehow, even the terrible light from the television was catching and reflecting off of Greg’s silver hair and Mycroft wanted to run his fingers through it and see if it was as soft as it looked.

“Mycroft?” Greg’s voice was hoarse.

“Yes.”

“I very badly want to kiss you right now.”

Mycroft didn’t know how to react.

“Would that be okay? Because we don’t have to,” Greg said quickly, his brow scrunched up in worry. “We could just keep watching the movie. It’s a good movie. Or I could take you home if you’d prefer. Sorry I…”

“I want you to kiss me, Gregory.”  

Greg didn’t wait another second before ducking his head and bringing his lips to Mycroft’s.

Mycroft paused at first, too shocked to do anything, but Greg’s lips were mobile and slightly chapped and reminded him that Gregory was there in front of him and kissing him and that he would probably expect Mycroft to reciprocate soon.

He moved in closer and parted his lips slightly as his right hand went up to Gregory’s neck. Greg moaned. His hand inched towards Gregory’s hair, the bandage on his index finger sliding through a little easier than the others.

Greg placed his hand on Mycroft’s thigh and moved his lips towards Mycroft’s jawline. “God, My,” he breathed. His hand slipped a little further up his leg.

Mycroft’s brain stuttered. He hated pet names, but he was sure he could die happy having heard Greg call him ‘My.’

Greg nibbled his way along Mycroft’s jaw towards his ear. Still distracted, Mycroft decided to see what would happen if he gave Greg’s hair a tug.

He was very pleased as Greg broke away from him for a moment to groan, before diving back in, teeth sharp on his earlobe, causing an unexpected shiver and wave of desire

“Oh, God.” He grabbed at Lestrade’s shirt, pulled him closer and brought their mouths together again. Mycroft nudged at Greg’s lips with his tongue. Greg moaned and opened his mouth to him. Mycroft had never been with somebody so vocal and was very quickly learning to appreciate it.

Greg pulled back slightly and nibbled on his bottom lip. Mycroft was also pleased to learn that Gregory was a fan of nibbling.

“Mycroft?”

Mycroft could taste his name on Gregory’s lips. “Yes, Gregory?” He kissed down Greg’s neck. Greg panted, fisting the material of the sofa before replying.

“Do you want this to go any further? Because if you don’t, I would maybe suggest we slow down a bit.”

“God, Gregory. Don’t stop.”

“Oh, fuck, My.” Greg pushed him back and lay on top of him.

Gregory immediately began rutting into him as if they were randy teenagers and not middle aged men damaged from the time they’d spent on earth. The pressure and friction felt wonderful, but they both knew it wouldn’t quite be enough. Greg had at some point loosened Mycroft’s tie, undid the top three buttons of his shirt, and was currently sucking a lovebite into his neck while palming his groin. Mycroft groaned and started wriggling his hands between them to undo Greg’s flies.

When he finally released Greg’s cock, Greg made a sound somewhere between a moan and a growl. Mycroft grasped his cock and gave a long, slow stroke from root to tip. Greg dropped his head to Mycroft’s chest and panted.

“Good fucking Christ, My.” He bit Mycroft’s shoulder through his shirt and reached for his flies.

As soon as they were open, Greg pressed both of their cocks together and grasped them in his slightly calloused hand. Mycroft whimpered.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been dreaming of this, My? Fucking ages. That’s how long. Anytime we were alone together I was thinking about having you on any flat surface that we were near by. I dreamed about taking you apart and making you beg for my cock for years, Mycroft. Ugh. Years.” He bit his shoulder again and picked up the pace.

Mycroft made an embarrassingly needy sound, but was too far gone to care.“Please, Gregory. God. Please.” Greg brought his lips back to Mycroft’s and swallowed his moans as Mycroft came. Greg followed almost immediately after.

Greg rested his head against Mycroft’s sternum, panting while Mycroft took heaving breaths and idly ran his hands through Gregory’s hair.

“We ruined your shirt,” Greg finally said.

“Hm? Oh. That’s fine.”

“Next time I’ll get you fully undressed.”

Mycroft’s mind snapped back to attention.“Next time?” he said, more to himself.

Greg paused.“If… if you want there to be.”

Of course Mycroft wanted there to be a next time. He had just had some of the best sex in his life and was holding Gregory Lestrade in his arms. But Greg was already only here because of how broken Mycroft was and his job had never been very conducive to a relationship.

Greg looked up at him with his big brown eyes. “I don’t want to pressure you at all, My, but I would love for there to be a next time. I’ll even take you out properly this time.” How was Mycroft supposed to say no to that? He couldn’t.

“If the time allows it, I would be amenable.” He couldn’t help but notice the small sigh of relief Greg gave and felt even more guilty that he couldn’t continue this.

“Will you stay over tonight?”

“I have to work in the morning. I should call my driver.”

“Let me lend you one of my shirts for the ride home. Your driver probably doesn’t want to know _exactly_ what we we’re doing.” Greg jumped up and made a quick detour to the washroom to clean up before heading to his bedroom to grab a shirt. Mycroft used the opportunity to send a text to his driver.

“Here you go, this should fit.” Gregory came strolling out of the bedroom looking delightfully dishevelled with his hair mussed from Mycroft tugging it and his shirt askew revealing a lovebite forming at the base of his neck. “Might be a bit big around the middle. I’ve been eating too many doughnuts at work,” he joked.

Mycroft’s gaze unwittingly travelled towards his abdomen and grinned slightly. Because the truth of it was that he loved Greg’s tummy. He loved that it was soft and made him look comfortable. Unselfconscious about it in a way Mycroft never could be.“Thank you. I’ll make sure to have it returned to you as soon as possible.”

“No rush. Whenever is fine.” Greg  smiled. Mycroft stood up and took the shirt to the washroom.

After removing his soiled shirt and washing his hands, he slipped Gregory’s shirt on. The material wasn’t as fine as what he normally wore, but he was sure that none of his shirts smelt this good. Gregory’s smelt of leather and coffee and a hint of tobacco. It surrounded Mycroft and made his knees feel weak. He shook his head and splashed some cold water on his face before trying to tame his hair.

Gregory looked up as he exited the washroom.

“I knew the green would look good with your hair.”

“I’ll make a note of that to my tailor.”

“How much longer before your car arrives?”

“They’re downstairs now. They’re never very far away.” Greg got up and walked him to the door.

“I’m working the rest of this week, but I have two days off next week. Maybe we could grab dinner? I know a theatre close by that shows old movies sometimes.”

“I’m never quite sure what my schedule will be like, but you have my number.” Mycroft felt like a heel. Greg nodded and smiled.

“Would it be terribly forward of me to ask for a goodnight kiss?” Greg actually shuffled his feet in embarrassment.

“Not after what we just did on your sofa, Gregory. No,” Mycroft lied. Of course it would be terribly forward, because Mycroft would get to feel Greg’s lips on his again.  Greg would go to bed afterwards believing that he would have more of those to look forward to and Mycroft would go home and sit in his office knowing that it would be the very last time he would get to feel Gregory that close again.

“Oh good. I was worried you’d think I’m just some randy bastard,” Greg smirked.

“I don’t recall saying that you weren’t.”

“Fair point.” Greg moved in closer and wrapped his arm around Mycroft’s middle. He moved slowly, allowing time for Mycroft to pull away, but Mycroft knew that he couldn’t even if he wanted to. Greg deserved this at least. One parting kiss full of hope, even if it was false.

Finally, their lips touched. Mycroft sighed and relaxed into his hold. Greg tilted his head slightly and deepened the kiss and Mycroft selfishly brought his hand to Greg’s neck again so he could run his fingers through Gregory’s hair once more. Without thinking, he gave a slight tug.

Greg growled deep in his chest and pressed him up against the wall.

“Oh, God. You’ve found my weakness, My,” His hands travelled the length of Mycroft’s arms and pinned them by his head.

“At least you don’t you don’t work for MI6. Half the country’s secrets would have been leaked by now.”

Gregory chuckled into his mouth and Mycroft’s knees almost gave out at how happy the sound tasted.

They stayed pressed together like that for another few moments. Enjoying the closeness and necking like teenagers.

“I really should go. My driver is waiting and I wouldn’t want to ruin your lovely shirt,” he finally said.

“I think the only way this shirt would look any better on you was if it was ruined.” Mycroft moaned slightly. Gregory pulled back a bit. “But I know you’ve got a big day of running the country tomorrow. I don’t want to be held responsible for distracting the British government. Do you mind if I text you tomorrow?”

“I don’t think I’ll be free tomorrow.”

“Just to say ‘hi’ and see how you’re doing.”

“If you want to, I suppose that would be fine.”

“Good. Than I’ll text you tomorrow. Goodnight, Mycroft.”

“Goodnight, Gregory.” Greg stole one last kiss before Mycroft slipped out the door.

He made his way to the parkade and found the car waiting for him. He quietly got in, made sure the privacy screen was up, and hit the empty seat beside him with all of his might. Trying, and failing, to release the pent up anger he had for majorly fucking up, yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mad thanks to Hums-happily and Beltainefaerie for betaing this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft goes to see a therapist.

The next day at work, Mycroft was looking through some files and licked his finger tip to help him flip the page easier. He had finally taken off the plaster when he had gotten home. He probably really hadn’t needed it to begin with. The cut wasn’t very bad and didn’t bleed very much, but it put him at ease to know that he wouldn’t have to see any blood. So he had immediately replaced it with a much more sensible flesh coloured fabric bandage. It did the job without being too flashy. Quite boring if he were being honest. His phone vibrated on the desk.

-Hey. Just seeing how you’re doing. Hope you don’t get any more battle scars attacking all of that paperwork :)- 

Mycroft didn’t know how to respond, so he ignored it. Instead he checked his emails. There was a new one from the head of MI5 about one of their agents who had been killed. Mycroft was reading through it when it mentioned that the agent had been shot through the head. 

_ Mycroft was cowering off to the side, covering his eyes and clenching his hands. He couldn’t look. This was all his fault. _

_ “I can’t. I can’t do it.” Mycroft looked up to see John turning towards Sherlock, shaking his head and frowning. “I’m sorry. I…” _

_ “No!” In what seemed to be the blink of an eye the Governor grabbed the gun out of John’s hand and backed away from the group. Hands shaking uncontrollably as he waved the gun at them. “No, no, no. She’s going to kill my wife. Remember me.” _

_ “NO!” All three of them yelled in unison, but of course it didn’t matter. Blood and brain matter splattered on the glass behind him. There was a ringing in Mycroft’s ears and all he could see was blood and gore and one of his former coworkers collapsed on the floor, unrecognisable with the hole in his head.  _

_ Mycroft, who had always detested leg work, who gave orders for people to be killed every second day, had never seen the carnage this close up.  _

Mycroft picked up the rubbish bin for the second day in a row and threw up.

It was three days later that Mycroft found himself sitting uncomfortably in a chair in a staring match with a therapist. Anthea had made the appointment with Doctor Diksha Narang and forced him to go.

_ “It isn’t in my job description to be cleaning up your vomit. Now. You will go see this therapist or so help me God, I will schedule a meeting with Pence for you.” _

“Your assistant has scheduled you in for sixty minutes, Mr. Holmes. You still have fifty-four of those left. So far you’ve said ‘hello’ and that you were feeling ‘fine’ and have now been sitting here staring at me blankly for the past six minutes.”

“An easy day for you, I suppose. Thank goodness you get paid by the hour.”

“It’s understandable to be nervous, Mr. Holmes and I promise we will go at your pace, but this meeting won’t accomplish anything if you refuse to speak entirely.” She crossed her legs and stuck her pen behind her ear. “How’s the weather outside?”

“Warm.”

“Not too warm for a three-piece suit?”

“I always wear a three-piece suit.”

“Any chance of rain today?”

“Not a cloud in the sky.”

“You walked in carrying an umbrella.”

“I always carry an umbrella.”

Doctor Narang wrote something on her notepad.

“You like to be prepared.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Most people don’t carry an umbrella when there’s no chance of rain.”

“Most people are idiots.”

Another note in her notepad. She smiled.

“Any other plans for the day?”

“Working.” 

“I meant after work.”

“I never know when I’ll be leaving the office. My job doesn’t have very predictable hours.”

Another note. The scratching of the pen was irritating an already disgruntled Mycroft.

“So when you’re not working, what do you do?”   
  
“Yes. So, are we actually going to accomplish anything, or can I just expect more inane chatter?”

“I told you, Mr. Holmes. We cannot accomplish anything if you refuse to talk. Sometimes people feel nervous talking to a stranger. I’m trying to get to know you better.”

“That seems rather one sided.”

“What would you like to know about me?”

“When were you planning on calling things off with your boyfriend? You really shouldn’t keep him hanging on as it is.” 

She switched over her legs so the other leg was on top. Mycroft noticed the pink spots from where her legs had been pressed together before.

“What makes you think I want to call it off with him?” She picked up her pen again, prepared to take more notes.

“On your desk you’ve got a picture of him, but turned away from where you can easily view it. The frame is dusty so it’s been sitting that way for awhile now. If it was a lover’s spat you either would have put it in the desk or fixed it by now, but it’s not. It’s been sitting that way, so that you don’t have to look at it for at least a month now. I would tell him sooner rather than later. He’s planning on proposing in two days. I believe we’re done for today,” he grabbed his umbrella and stood up.

“We still have half an hour.”

“No. We are done for the day. Thank you, Doctor,” he said sternly. He left the office as fast as he could and sped off in the black car that was waiting for him.

***

-Hey. Anthea told me you tried to go see a therapist today. She mentioned that it didn’t go well. Did you want to talk about it?-

Mycroft took another large swig of his scotch and sat in the empty dark room, guiltily wearing the shirt Greg had lent to him. If he stuck his nose in the collar of it he could still smell Gregory on it. 

He chuckled humourlessly to himself. What was there to talk about? Some goldfish with mind-numbingly normal, everyday problems thought that they could solve an issue like this. The only issue was that his terrible decisions had gotten at least five people killed and had put three more in jeopardy. There was nothing to solve here. Mycroft was just a fuck up that now couldn’t handle the tiniest amount of blood and probably stayed up too many nights drinking alone. 

He pocketed his phone without replying and knocked back the rest of his drink. Hopefully Greg would get the message that there was no getting through to him and that he may as well give up. God knows, Mycroft had.

***

-Today is my day off. Are you free at all?-

Mycroft’s head ached and he had a crick in his neck from falling asleep in a chair. 

It had been two days since the meeting with the therapist and Mycroft had spent last night drinking alone again. He hadn’t the night before, only because he had been up all night averting another international crisis.

-The theatre by my house is playing The Man Kept Walking. I’ve never seen it. Have you?-

Mycroft wiped a hand over his face and scratched at the stubble that was growing. He didn’t trust himself to give Greg a sensible answer feeling like this so he ignored his phone yet again and went upstairs to take a shower.

After he had showered and dressed he stood in his kitchen waiting for his coffee to finish brewing. He pulled out his phone and was about to text back Gregory that unfortunately he would be unavailable tonight, but there was a text from Anthea.

-I’m sorry to tell you that the Finnish PM has had to postpone your meeting from 7pm tonight until tomorrow at 2pm. Although it does free up your evening and I have taken the liberty to make dinner reservations for you and Detective Inspector Lestrade. Don’t worry. I have already confirmed with him that you would be delighted to see him tonight. I’ve also booked an appointment later this week with the therapist.-

He cursed.

***

Mycroft sat at his desk at work, seemingly trying to burn a hole in the wall by staring at it. He was counting the ticking of the clock in his office. Waiting for Gregory to pick him up. He still had another hour, twelve minutes, and forty-two seconds to go. Anthea stepped into his office. 

“Why don’t you try doing something productive? Sign these forms. The minister of finance needs them.” Mycroft sighed resignedly. “You like the Detective Inspector. You look as if I’ve told you to go on a date with David Cameron.” He shuddered slightly. Anthea gave a very small smile. “That’s not who you’re going to go see. You’re going to go see that dishy Detective that you had a lovely time with last week and you’re going to go have dinner and see a movie with him and have a perfectly normal date.” She turned to exit the room.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Mycroft muttered to himself.

Gregory showed up five minutes and thirty-six seconds early. He wore a navy blue suit with an even darker blue shirt, no tie and the first three buttons undone. Mycroft could feel his brain trying to tug his train of thought into completely inappropriate areas.

“Hey Mycroft. I hope this suit will be ok for the restaurant we’re going to. Anthea said ‘dressy casual’ whatever that means.”

Mycroft cleared his throat.

“Ye… yes. I’m sure that will be quite appropriate for where we are going.” 

Greg grinned.“Good. Wouldn’t want to embarrass my gorgeous date.”

“Oh. Are we bringing a third party along?” Mycroft decided to try some self-deprecating humour.

“Nice try, gorgeous, but you’re stuck with just me for the evening.”

Mycroft flushed and got up to grab his umbrella. Greg beamed at him and crooked his elbow for Mycroft to grab hold of. His eyes widened slightly and he delicately placed his hand on Gregory’s arm and they walked together out of his office and strolled towards the restaurant in the warm summer evening.

***

They stood in front of Gregory’s flat after the movie. 

“Fancy coming up for a bit?” 

“Very tempting, but I shouldn’t.”

“Oh, come on. We could just have a cup of coffee before you go home. I just like spending time with you. Please?”

There was no way possible for Mycroft to say ‘no’ to that. 

“Well, I suppose if you are that starved for company.” Mycroft was sure that Greg’s smile could outshine the sun.

“Yes! Come on then.” Greg grabbed Mycroft’s hand and hurried towards his flat.

As soon as they entered the flat Greg hurried towards the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable. I won’t be a mo’,” he called. 

Mycroft couldn’t help the small smile at how excited Greg seemed to be. This wasn’t the usual reaction people had when given the option to spend time with him. He sat down on the sofa and tried to avoid thinking about what had happened the last time he and Gregory had sat together there.

“How do you take your coffee?” Greg asked from the kitchen. 

“Two and two, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“I think I can manage it.” Mycroft looked over to see Greg smirking as he finished up and brought over both mugs of coffee and placed them on the table. 

“So, what did you think of the movie?”

“The writing was cliched, the plot was contrived, and the espionage aspect was so inaccurate it was laughable.”

“You loved it.”

“I will admit that I had fun.” Mycroft allowed himself a smile. “Thank you, Gregory.”

“I had fun too. Thanks for going out with me. I know you’re busy.” 

“You were able to catch me on a good day,” he fibbed.

“You’ll have to let me know when you have a good day again.”

“They don’t happen very often. Besides, you’ll get bored of me.” Mycroft picked up his mug and took a sip.

“No one could get bored of you, Mycroft Holmes.”

Flustered, Mycroft missed where the the edge of the table was and dropped the mug. It shattered.

“Oh good, God. I’m so sorry. Here. Please. Allow me to clean it.” He dropped down onto his knees.

“No. My. It’s ok. I got it.”

“No no. I’m the idiot that dropped it. I do apologise. I don’t know what… ouch! Damn,” his finger had slipped and sliced open on the sharp porcelain 

“Shit. My. Are you all…” Greg didn’t finish as Mycroft jumped up and ran towards the washroom. The sounds of Mycroft retching could be heard echoing throughout the flat.

Mycroft sat, hugging the toilet bowl, praying that Gregory wouldn’t come into the bathroom, but of course Greg was too nice to leave him be. He walked up behind him and gently rubbed his back.

“Here. Just a second,” Greg reached over and grabbed a facecloth. He ran it under some cool water. Mycroft sat back and flushed the toilet. He looked incredibly pale. Greg began to clean up around Mycroft’s mouth. “There we go, My.”

“I’m sorry, Gr… Gregory. I didn’t mean to cause such a fuss. I just…” he leaned over the toilet again. Greg just continued to rub his back. 

“It’s ok, My. No need to apologise. What happened?”

“I just cut my finger a bit, you see. Nothing really to worry about. I should get out of your hair. Thank you for your hospitality,” he moved to stand up.

“Mycroft, maybe you shouldn’t move so quick.”

“Nonsense,”  heard himself say right before the world went black.

***

Mycroft was horribly confused when he woke up.

“Mycroft? My? Are you ok?”

“Hmm? What happened,” he looked around the bathroom.

“You fainted. You scared me, My.”

“Sorry. I’m being such an inconvenience tonight.” 

“Not at all. Here. Have some water and I’ll help you get to bed.” Mycroft sipped slowly at the water.

“Bed? Which bed?”

“My bed. I think it would be better if you stay here tonight. That way I can keep an eye on you and I’m not making you move around too much.”

“I really couldn’t, Gregory.”

“You can and you will.”Greg took the glass out of Mycroft’s hands and set it by the sink. “I’ll help you up.” He wrapped his arm around Mycroft and heaved him unsteadily onto his feet. They walked slowly towards the bedroom.

“Really, Gregory. You’ve already done too much. My driver can handle…”

“I’m sure your driver could do an excellent job, but he probably wouldn’t mind having the night off. Tomorrow is my day off. I’ve got plenty of time to take care of you.”

“But…”

“Nope. No more arguments. You sit here. I’ll grab you some pyjamas,” Greg said as he walked towards his drawers. “These should fit.” He placed them on the bed. “Here. Let me help you.” He began to work Mycroft’s suit jacket off of his shoulders. “Oh. Your finger. I’ll just grab a plaster.” He ran over to the bathroom.

Mycroft stopped himself from looking at his finger, still feeling weak and confused. He instead focused on staying upright. Greg came back into the bedroom and Mycroft registered Greg kneeling in front of him and taking hold of his hand.

Very quietly he wrapped the plaster around Mycroft’s thumb. Mycroft finally let himself look down at his hand. Greg still gently cradled it. 

“What’s on it?”

“Hmm?” Greg seemed distracted.

“On the plaster. What’s on it?”

“Oh,” he smiled. “It’s Batman.”

“Why did you get those ones?” 

Greg shrugged. “They’re more fun than regular bandages. Besides. You remind me of Batman.” Mycroft looked at him quizzically.

“How on earth do I remind you of Batman?”

“What? You mean you’re not some billionaire philanthropist by day and a spandex-wearing vigilante by night? Because that sounds pretty familiar.”

Mycroft huffed out a laugh.

“Besides. I’ve never seen you and Batman in the same room together,” he smiled. 

Mycroft shook his head, too tired to think of a witty retort.

“Let’s finish getting you into these pyjamas and then you have a good sleep. Then in the morning we’re going to have a talk about what happened ok. But, for now, sleep.” Any hint of a jovial mood from Mycroft fell flat at the promise of talking about this tomorrow.

“I’m feeling better now, Gregory. I really should get home.”

“Mycroft, you just emptied the entire contents of your stomach into my toilet and then fainted, all at the sight of some blood. Let me take care of you this evening. You need some proper rest.” Greg didn’t wait for Mycroft to respond before starting to undo the buttons on his waistcoat. Mycroft was too tired to argue. He’d just deal with it tomorrow.

“I think I have a spare toothbrush. Are you ok to make it to the bathroom to clean your teeth before bed?” Greg asked after they had finished putting on his pyjamas. Mycroft nodded and slowly pushed himself off the bed. Greg stayed close the entire time.

After, Mycroft sluggishly made his way towards the bed. His body felt heavy and slow. Greg helped him onto the bed and tucked him under the covers before quickly changing into some pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt. Mycroft felt the bed dip as Gregory crawled into the other side. A small kiss was placed on his forehead. 

“Goodnight, My. Try to get some sleep.” The lamp beside the bed was turned off and he felt Greg snuggle under the covers.

Mycroft stared at the wall for hours, despite how tired he was, wondering how much longer he had before Greg got tired of putting up with him and left, before finally drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mad thanks to Beltainefaerie and Hums-Happily for betaing this. Also too, I've been forgetting to mention that I am on tumblr and if you want to follow me, you're very welcome to at theartstudentyouhate.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've gotta runner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah! Another chapter? Yup. This thing is all edited now so I can post it whenever. Isn't that great???

The sun had just started to shine through the curtains when Mycroft woke up. It struck him as odd because he had his bed situated so that the sun wouldn’t disturb him in the mornings. The sheets also felt different and they smelt fantastic. Like coffee and leather and… hold on second. That smelt familiar. He looked to his right.

Gregory was still sleeping soundly. He was lying on his front, facing Mycroft. The deep, restful sound of him breathing would oh too easily lull Mycroft back to sleep. That combined with the sight of Greg drooling slightly onto his pillow created one of the sweetest vignettes Mycroft had ever seen.

Mycroft gulped down the lump in his throat as he realised that he couldn’t stay.

Very quietly he shuffled to the side and got out of the bed. He grabbed his suit and made his way to the bathroom. He ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it and cleaned his teeth. He’d have to make a quick stop at home to actually get ready to go to work. 

He changed into his rumpled suit and decided to carry his shoes to the door. He had almost made it, just had to finish putting on his shoes, when he heard footsteps.

“You’re leaving?” Mycroft didn’t look up from his shoes. 

“I have to work today and I should get home before I have to go into the office.”

“Can’t you stay for a cup of coffee? Just so we could talk a bit about what happened last night? I wanna help you, My.”

“You’ve been too kind already. I really should get…”

“Mycroft. You’re sneaking out of my house like you’re about to do the walk of shame or something. I’ll drive you to your place. I’m off today. Remember?”

“My driver is already downstairs.” 

Greg huffed out a sigh.“Can I meet you later today then? We really should talk about this, My. Please.” 

Mycroft was wishing that he hadn't bothered trying to put on his shoes. He chanced a glance at Greg who was looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. He felt his heart break at the sight of hurt and confusion so clearly written over Greg’s face. “My schedule is quite full today, I’m afraid,” he said in a near whisper. “Thank you, Gregory. I’ll be sure to replace the mug I damaged.” He opened the door and was halfway out.

“Damn the mug, Mycroft. I just want to be a good friend and be there for you. Can’t you see that? What’s happening to you isn’t healthy and everyone around you is worried. We’re trying to help you and you’re pushing us away. I know that you were ignoring my texts before Anthea texted me about the plans she made for last night. I know that you don’t really want to see me and that’s fine, but I care about you and I promised Sherlock that I would look after you. Please. If you don’t want me, I’ll leave you alone, but don’t push away everyone else. You deserve to be happy, My.” 

Mycroft’s shoulders slumped and his knuckles turned white from how hard he was holding onto Gregory’s door.“I wish that were true, Gregory,” he didn’t look back. Instead, he let his hand slide off of the door and straightened his shoulders and made his way down the hall. He felt Gregory’s eyes on him the whole way. It wasn’t until he was in the staircase, out of sight of Gregory, that he allowed himself to fall back against the wall and press the heels of his hands into his eyes.

He took a few deep, shuddering breaths before forcing himself to make his way to the car.

***

It was the next day that Anthea had scheduled the second appointment with the therapist. Mycroft hadn’t really gotten much work done yesterday besides signing a few forms and going to a meeting with the PM that he had to keep reminding himself to pay attention to. He had spent the night drinking alone again.

He had just sat down, ramrod straight, staring off into the corner. Doctor Narang finished up some work at her desk before moving to sit in the chair across from Mycroft.

“Hello, Mr. Holmes. How are you doing today?”

“Doctor Narang.” He nodded in greeting. “I’m well, thank you.” 

“I beg your pardon, but you don’t look well. You look exhausted. Are you sleeping all right?”

“I don’t need much sleep to function.”

“That’s not quite what I asked. To be functioning is one thing, but your body needs the proper amount of sleep to be healthy.” She had that damnable pen and notepad at the ready.

“And what is the recommended amount that I should sleep? Eight hours? My schedule simply cannot allow for that. I’m a busy man,” he answered tersely.

“You must be busy if your job doesn’t even allow for a healthy sleep schedule. What was it that you said you do?”

“I didn’t tell you what I do.” She waited for him to continue, but decided to speak when it became clear that he wouldn’t.

“Then what is it that you do?”

“I occupy a minor position in the British government.”

“A minor position that doesn’t allow you to sleep?”

“I sleep when I can, but my work schedule isn’t terribly predictable. The problems I have to solve so very rarely stick to a timetable.”

“I understand. I suppose you don’t get much time off, then.”

“No.” 

“Are you married?”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’ve got a wedding band on your right hand.”

“It’s a family ring. I believe my mother gave it to me in the hopes that I would be married by now.”

“Is there a lot of pressure for you to get married?”

“I think she’s quite given up on that.”

“Are you just not interested in marriage or is it because of your job?” Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m not lonely if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I’m not implying anything, Mr. Holmes. Just trying to get to know you.” Mycroft huffed out a breath. “I should thank you, by the way,” he cocked an eyebrow. “I called things off with Julian after our meeting last week. It was only fair to him. You gave me the courage to do it. So, thank you.”

There was a pause.

“To be perfectly frank, I’m not quite sure how to respond to that. ‘You’re welcome’ doesn’t seem terribly appropriate.”

Doctor Narang chuckled.

“I guess not, but I suppose that you can take some pride in the fact that you helped me be a little happier.”

Mycroft blinked and looked down at his hands. He hadn’t really ever had someone tell him that he made them happy before. He idly rubbed the batman bandage that he still hadn’t taken off.

“What happened to your thumb?”

“I cut it,” Mycroft said quietly.

“On what?”

“A broken mug. I was trying to clean up a broken mug and I cut it on the porcelain,” he still hadn’t looked up.

“What’s on the plaster?”

“Batman,” he couldn’t help the small quirk of a smile at the memory.

“You never struck me as a comic book fan.”

“I’m not, but I suppose that the person I was with at the time is.”

“Is that person you were with a friend?” Mycroft finally looked up. 

“I don’t have any friends,” he said cooly.

“Alright. I won’t bother implying anything, I’ll outright ask. Are you lonely, Mr. Holmes?” 

Mycroft gave a resentful sniff and curled his lip in a slight sneer.`“I believe that I’ve already answered that.”

“Oh. That’s right. I do apologise,” she smiled as she made a note of that. “Your assistant mentioned to me that you have a hard time dealing with blood,” she said after a pause.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. “Did she?”

“Yes. How did you fare when you cut yourself?” Mycroft stiffened and stubbornly set his gaze on the wall. “Not well, then?”

“No! Not bloody well,” he barked out. His fists clenched and he took a deep breath.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Why does it matter? I don’t deal well with blood. Some people don’t deal well with insects, others with water. I think it’s perfectly justifiable that after what happened that day I don’t deal well with blood.” 

“I never said that it wasn’t.” She made another note. “I’ve only heard of some of what happened that day. Would you care to go into any more detail about it?”

“No,” Mycroft bit out. He took a deep breath and took out his pocket watch. “In fact, Doctor, I believe our time is up.”

“We have ten minutes left.”

“I’ll make sure you get paid for the full sixty minutes. Don’t worry.” He grabbed his umbrella and strode out of the room.

***

Mycroft leaned his head back against the chair, his feet propped up on the ottoman, his fifth or sixth whiskey held loosely between his thumb and middle finger at his side. The room was pitch dark and silent as a tomb. He sighed into the darkness.

“You really should be more careful, brother.” Sherlock’s baritone cut through the silence behind him. Mycroft didn’t bother to jump. “You know our family’s proclivity for addiction.” He walked around to stand in front of Mycroft.

“Why are you here, brother mine?” Mycroft gave an empty smile. “I thought you’d be busy with Doctor Watson.” 

“Greg told me that you aren’t willing to talk to him and Anthea told me that you keep leaving your sessions with the therapist early.” Mycroft had often been under Sherlock’s displeased glare many times before, but this one felt different. Mycroft was just drunk enough to not really care why.

“They should consider themselves lucky. I’ve been told that I’m terrible company.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Brilliant deduction. Scotland Yard is truly fortunate to have you as a consultant.”

“You never get drunk. I’ve never seen you drunk.”

“First time for everything, I suppose.”

“But this isn’t the first time you’ve been drunk. You’ve been drinking almost every night since Eurus.” Mycroft winced at the sound of her name. “You’re coming back to John’s house.”

“No. I’m going to finish my drink and then go upstairs to bed. Some of us have work to go to in the morning.”

“Anthea said you aren’t allowed in the office tomorrow.” 

Mycroft glared.“She what?”

“She said that you aren’t allowed into the office until you see reason and talk with somebody.” 

Mycroft’s lip curled viciously and he sniffed. He paused a moment and closed his eyes as he exhaled. He relaxed back into the chair, looked up at Sherlock, and smiled.“Fine. See how long the commonwealths stick together without me.” He took another sip of his drink.

Sherlock inhaled loudly through his nose and looked up above Mycroft’s head.

“John. If you’d be so kind.”

“Of course.” John stepped up behind Mycroft.

“Oh. Doctor Watson. What a pleasure. My goodness. Quite the party we’ve got here. Has Sherlock tasked you with being the brawn to manhandle me into the car?”

“Wouldn’t be terribly difficult. I saw how well you tried to fight off the guards at Sherrinford,” he took another step forward. Mycroft put a hand up indicating for him to wait.

“A moment if you please, Doctor. This is a very well aged and expensive whiskey. I would hate to waste it.” Mycroft proceeded to knock it back. He set the glass down and raised his hands in surrender. “There. Do what you will.” 

Mycroft was glad that he had loosened his tie and undone the top button of his shirt as John grabbed the back of it and hauled him out of the chair and into the taxi waiting outside. 

The three of them sat squished in the back seat, Mycroft in the middle.

“Look at this. Me getting in between Sherlock’s relationships again. Don’t worry, ‘Locky, the irony isn’t lost on me.” Sherlock didn’t deign to look at him.

“Doctor Watson, are you sure you wouldn’t rather sit in the middle?” 

“No, Mycroft. I’m perfectly content sitting here.” John didn’t bother to look at him either.

“Oh no, ‘Locky. What does that say about your new relationship? I guess it’s just another one to disappoint Mummy with. Just like being a teenager again. Right, ‘Locky?” Mycroft smiled at them both. The two of them continued staring straight ahead. 

“Tough crowd this evening,” he paused and sighed. “The two of you were so cute together too. Dancing around each other for years. Sherlock dying for two years, just to protect John Watson. And then you, John. Going off and getting married… to an assassin, no less. Denying what was so obvious for so long.” Mycroft’s head lulled around with every bump in the road. It felt as if there was a bowling ball inside it.

“Interesting,” Sherlock mused.

“What is?” Mycroft’s head rolled to the side so that he could look at Sherlock.

“Drinking doesn’t improve your company.” 

“Well, I wasn’t expecting company this evening.” Mycroft slouched in his seat. He looked at the bandage on his finger. “Gregory didn’t seem to mind my company,” he murmured to himself. 

He could feel Gregory’s lips pressed against his neck. The press of his chest underneath his palms. The sight of waking up next to him flashed in front of his eyes as he heard himself say  _ I wish that were true, Gregory. _

All of it was so vivid that it took him a moment to realise that the warm, wet tears he felt on his cheeks were actually real, even if the rest wasn’t.

He ripped off the plaster and tossed it onto the floor of the car. Gregory was mistaken. The last thing Mycroft deserved was happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mad thanks to Beltainefaerie and Hums-Happily for editing this thing for me. Also if you wanna follow me on Tumblr, you can at theartstudentyouhate.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have a conversation with Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another chapter. I'm on my second Gin and Tonic and thought "Hey. I should post another chapter." So, here you go. Be on the lookout for some cuddles in this chapter. I think we all need a group hug. Everyone get in on this.

Mycroft woke up the next morning to the smell of very strong coffee and a stiff neck from falling asleep on a couch. He winced at the light in the room. He had the terrible thought that he was getting too used to waking up hungover.

He heard a baby babbling somewhere off in the distance. He rubbed a hand over his face. The stubble on his cheeks and chin scratching at his hand.

“There’s ibuprofen on the table,” Sherlock called from the kitchen.

Mycroft sat up unsteadily and looked towards the kitchen. Sherlock was sitting at the table, his own cup of coffee cradled in his hands.He grabbed the bottle of pills and downed three of them with a glass of water sat next to the cup of coffee.

“Losing sleep because of the baby, brother mine? Mummy will be quite pleased to learn that she’s a grandmother.” Sherlock took a sip of his coffee as Mycroft spoke. “Is there any chance that I could take a shower? You probably didn’t think to pack any extra clothes for me, did you?” Sherlock stared another moment at him before letting his gaze drift slowly to the right of the couch. Mycroft followed his gaze.

Sitting beside the couch was a small suitcase.

“I beg your pardon, brother.”

“Anthea packed it,” Sherlock finally broke his silence.

They stared at each other for another moment.

“Well, I’ll just go take…”

“Sit down, Mycroft. You and I are going to have a little chat.” Sherlock gestured to the seat at the opposite end of the kitchen table. Mycroft sighed and grabbed his coffee as he made his way towards the kitchen.

The sound of the chair skidding against the floor echoed loudly in the silence. Mycroft took a moment to sit and sip his coffee.“Sherlock. I want to apologise for…” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “for everything. I’ve made so many mistakes and they’ve all hurt you so much. It was never my intention. I… I’m sorry.” Sherlock stared at him a moment. Mycroft had never felt so small.

"You have made mistakes, Mycroft. Some of them quite substantial,” Sherlock took a fortifying breath. “But you know that and you were willing to atone for them. You were willing to die, Mycroft,” his voice cracked.

“I wish you had shot me.” Sherlock flinched at Mycroft’s words. “Nobody would have blamed you. I deserved far worse.” Tears welled in his eyes. Mycroft gave a small, wavering smile and looked down into his coffee. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “But you are too kind… too emotional for that.” He wiped away the traitorous tear that had escaped onto his cheek.  He got up and grabbed the suitcase, heading towards the washroom.

***

Mycroft took a very hot, very long shower, scrubbing hard at his skin with a wash cloth. Finishing up, he wrapped a towel around his waist and scratched at the stubble on his cheek. Looking in the small bag of toiletries Anthea had packed, he pulled out his razor, shaving soap, and brush and set out to try and look like himself again.

It was a while later that he finally stepped out of the bathroom in a fresh suit and clean shaven face, feeling physically better than he had that morning. John was sat on the couch cuddling Rosie to him. John nodded in his direction.

“Good morning, Doctor Watson.” Mycroft paused. “I apologise for my behaviour last night. It was boorish and uncouth. You didn’t deserve any of it. Thank you for allowing me to spend the night in your home.”

“Don’t worry about it. We all have bad days.”

“It is still inexcusable. You went through the exact trials that I did.”

“Yes, but I was also better prepared for it. As much as one can be for something like that.” Rosie gurgled. Mycroft registered the quiet sounds of Sherlock moving around the kitchen. He turned his head to look in Sherlock’s direction.

“Mycroft. Your neck. It’s bleeding.” Mycroft froze and turned pale. John got up very slowly from the couch. “It’s ok. Nothing bad at all. I think you just nicked yourself shaving.” He made his way to the kitchen to hand Rosie off to Sherlock, who was preparing a bottle for her.

“I’ll go grab a plaster, alright? It’s fine. No need to panic. I’ll be right back and we’ll fix this.” He quickly made his way to the bathroom and Mycroft could hear him rooting around in the medicine cabinet.

Mycroft didn’t dare move. Now that John had pointed it out, the small itch at his neck was all he could think about. Sherlock stepped out of the kitchen. Rosie was in a baby sling carrier as he held the bottle for her. He walked towards Mycroft, threaded his hand around his arm, and guided him towards the sofa.

He didn’t say anything, but sat with Mycroft as they waited for John to return.

“Here we are.” John smiled gently. His years as a medical professional had made his beside manner impeccable. He approached Mycroft slowly. “I’m just going to put this on and it’ll be all right.” John kept his movements slow and gentle, unthreatening. He very softly applied the plaster to the small cut and pulled back. Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief.

“You both have been unbelievably kind. I should leave you both in peace now. I’ll make my way back home.”

Sherlock tightened his grip on Mycroft’s arm.“No, you don’t. You don’t get to say things like ‘you wish that I shot you’ and expect me to let you go to an empty house. Do you really think me so cruel, Brother?”

“No, but I do believe you to have sense enough to know that I’m not good for you or your family.” Mycroft looked at little Rosie.

“You are my family, Mycroft. Whether you want it or not and while I will stand by my previous statement that you were a rubbish big brother, I think it is only fair to say that I was a rubbish younger brother, too.” Sherlock attempted to smile. “I put you and our parents through so much and you never gave up on me. Why didn’t you give up on me?”

“Because I knew that there was still so much for you to live for. I was unemotional, closed off. The most I could hope for was power and control, but you. You could hope for a full and happy life. Look at all that you have accomplished. You have grown so much. Now you have a proper family, Sherlock. How could I ever give up on you when I knew that the potential for all of this was there?”

Sherlock cradled Rosie closer to himself and John reached over to place his hand on his knee.“I was so selfish for so long, Mycroft. If you weren’t worrying about me, you could have tried to find your own happiness.”

“You forget, Sherlock. You are not my only younger sibling. No. I didn’t need any of that. As long as Eurus was taken care of and you were relatively safe and our parents were happy, that was enough. Although, I must admit to being relieved when you met Detective Inspector Lestrade and he seemed to take a shine to you. I didn’t have to worry about you quite as much.”

Sherlock seemed to snap back to the present. He gave his brother a scrutinizing stare. “I asked Greg to look after you, because it is high time that you stop pretending that you don’t have feelings for him and now he’s told me that you won’t even respond to his text messages. Greg has been distraught these past few days. Anthea has been keeping tabs on him and told me that he isn’t eating or sleeping properly. He hasn’t called me with any cases, because apparently he refuses to not work.”

Mycroft lowered his head and sighed. “I wish he would give up on me. He deserves so much better.”

John decided that it was his turn to pipe up. “But he can’t. You said that you never gave up on Sherlock, because you could see the potential for something great for him. I bet Greg sees the same thing in you.”

“What possible potential could he see in me?”

“Don’t know. You’ll have to talk to him.”

“You have to talk to him, brother. I know how long you’ve been in love with him.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, overwhelmed, he started to cry. Sherlock brought his hand up around Mycroft’s shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. John sat off to the side until Sherlock grabbed his arm and pulled him into the hug as well.

Mycroft was surrounded by the two people who best understood his plight. The three of them scarred from the dangers they had faced. Rosie made a soft cooing noise at the three of them. Reminding them of all of the hope and potential there still was. They sat there for some time just breathing and healing together.

It was later that afternoon, John was making lunch for the three of them. Rosie was playing with Mycroft’s tie as Sherlock had insisted that Mycroft hold her. Mycroft’s phone vibrated on the table. It was a message from Greg.

-Hey. I’m really sorry for how everything went the other day. It was never my intention. I do honestly want to help you. I really do believe that you deserve to be happy. John told me you’re staying at his place for awhile. I hope it helps. Give my love to Rosie.-

Mycroft rubbed Rosie’s back and hoped that she could understand how loved she was.

“You should text him back, brother.” Sherlock of course knew exactly who had texted him.

“And set up a time to meet him.” Well. Apparently John knew, too.

“I’m sure he’s busy.” Mycroft’s voice withered at the look Sherlock threw his way. He sighed.

-Hello Gregory. I’m feeling a bit better now. It was very kind of you to text me. I would actually like to set up a time when we could meet and talk. Perhaps we could have coffee?-

The reply came almost immediately.

-I’d love to. I’m busy tonight, but maybe we could meet for lunch tomorrow. There’s a cafe next to NSY that Sally said has a good quinoa salad.-

-That sounds lovely. Meet at your office at 1pm?-

-Sounds great. See you then :) -

He shook his head slightly at the emoticon. At least it wasn’t a winky face.

Rosie looked up at him, reaching towards his face. Her hands made a grabbing motion.

“What is it?” Mycroft looked down at her.

“She likes the plaster on your neck.” Sherlock was looking at his phone, trying to hide his smirk. Mycroft furrowed his brows.

“What is on the plaster?” John didn’t turn to face him, but Mycroft could see his shoulders tense slightly.

“It’s uh, Strawberry Shortcake? Like the doll from the eighties.” Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“Oh, for God’s sake! Does nobody have a regular bandage?”

“I have a daughter, Mycroft, who likes Strawberry Shortcake. You try saying no to that face.”

Mycroft sighed and looked down at the little girl that was still reaching up towards his neck, realising that that would be a near impossible task.

***

Mycroft stood in his bathroom the next day, looking in the mirror. John and Sherlock had let him go back to his house after dinner at John’s. When Mycroft had first gotten home, he hid the decanter of whiskey in the liquor cabinet. Probably better to stop that habit before it became permanent.

He spent a restless night tossing and turning thinking about his lunch date with Greg the next day. The hurt look on Greg’s face the last time he had seen him, flashing behind his closed eyes.

Finally at some point he must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, his alarm clock was going off. The only reason he had set his alarm clock was to try and keep some routine in his life until Anthea decided that he was allowed back in his office.

He rubbed at his tired eyes and yawned. Rolling out of bed, he made his way to the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day.

That’s where he found himself now. Freshly showered and putting the finishing touches on his suit, he glanced at his pocket watch. He’d be meeting Gregory in a few short hours.

He sighed. The purple bags under his eyes stood out against his pale skin and his suit hung loosely on his frame. He really hadn’t been eating properly since the Sherrinford ordeal.

He rolled his shoulders back and lifted his chin. ‘Time to get back on the wagon,’ he thought. He placed a stray strand of hair back into place and inhaled deeply before making his way to the kitchen.

He walked into the kitchen and began to fix himself a cup of coffee before making his way to the fridge. He opened the door of the refrigerator before remembering how empty it was. He sighed and rubbed at his neck, feeling the bandage that was still there. He smiled fondly at the memory of little Rosie reaching for it. The small smile on Greg’s face as he told him that he was like Batman.

He texted Anthea.

-Could you please have some food delivered to my house? Some simple things to put in the refrigerator should suffice.-

-Of course, Sir. Anything else?-

The memory of Greg complimenting his pink plaster with the cupcakes on it crossed his mind.

-Perhaps some more plasters for my first aid kit. I’ll let you decide what sort of designs should be on them.-

-Everything will be arriving to the house in 45 minutes. Your breakfast will be arriving in 20.-

Mycroft smirked. That woman was terrifying.

-Thank you.-

He sipped his coffee and checked his emails while waiting for breakfast. When the doorbell rang he went and collected the breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and some avocado. All of it perfectly cooked as if it had been cooked at home.

He finished eating just as the other groceries were delivered. He put them away, wondering if he was actually ever going to eat the kale that Anthea had apparently thought was necessary.

When the food was put away, he grabbed the three boxes of bandages that Anthea had picked. He looked them over. One box had penguin bandages, another had Oscar Wilde quotes (he’d be having a word with his mother about exactly what type of information she gave to his PA), and the last box didn’t have designs but were bright neon colours.

He opened the box of penguin bandages and decided to wrap one around his left pinkie.

Looking at the time again he realised that he should leave now to meet Greg on time.

***

Greg smiled as Mycroft walked into his office. Mycroft nervously took a seat.

“Mycroft. I’m glad you could make it.” His smile was still the big, bright beacon of light that Mycroft remembered.

“I happened to have the day off of work.” It was a half truth.

“I hope that you’re feeling a bit better.”

“Yes. That respite at Doctor Watson’s was just what I needed.”

Greg grinned assuredly. “I’ll just finish this form and we can be on our way.”

Mycroft nodded and sat quietly waiting for Gregory to finish up.

A few short moments later Greg looked up and smiled.

“Ready to go?” Mycroft couldn’t help his small smile. Gregory’s smile was just so contagious.

“Yes, Gregory.”

Greg got up, patted his pockets and made sure he had his wallet and keys. Satisfied, he shoved the paperwork into a folder and dropped it on Sally’s desk on the way out.

They walked together towards the cafe.

***

Mycroft picked at the quinoa salad in front of him.

“My. Please eat. You need to eat.”

Mycroft nodded and kept his eyes on his food. He picked up a forkful before setting it back down.“I apologise for how I acted that morning. It was immature. You deserve far better.”

Greg bit his lip. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“That doesn’t make it right, Gregory. You have been so kind and unselfish and I…”

“Mycroft.” He placed his hand over Mycroft’s that rested on the table. “That night that we… had together, that was just about the most selfish thing I could’ve done. You were in a vulnerable position and I should have realised that. No matter how much I wanted to, I should’ve kept my hands to myself and I’m sorry that I didn’t have better self-control.”

Mycroft gaped. “But I… I asked for it. I’m the one who should apologise for that night. I knew that I would only cause you pain and I did it anyway.”

They came to a standstill, staring at each other.

Both of their phones vibrated. They shared a look.

-You’re being ridiculous. SH-

Both of their brows furrowed in confusion.

“Is he spying on us?” said Greg. Their phones vibrated again.

-You’re both slipping. Look in the corner by the kitchen door.-

Both of them turned to see Sherlock and John waving. Rosie sitting in the baby carrier.

“Oh for God’s sakes.” Mycroft placed his head in his hands.

Greg touched his elbow. “Sod it. We’re both rubbish at talking. We probably need all of the help we can get.”

“And you believe that we should get help from John and Sherlock?”

“Yeah. Good point.” Greg looked back over his shoulder and flipped them off. John pretended to put it in his pocket. Greg ignored him and looked back at Mycroft. “Fancy taking a walk around the block?”

“That sounds like an excellent plan.” Mycroft regretted that he had already paid for the meals, he would have left the bill for Sherlock if he had known.

They got outside and began walking briskly towards a park not far away. They decided to sit on a bench in a rather open field to avoid Sherlock and John being able to hide among any trees.

“What happened to your finger? I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Nothing, really. I just liked this bandage,” he flushed slightly.

“I do too. Suits you, the penguins.” Greg smiled. “What about your neck then? Or do you just really like Strawberry Shortstack?”

“It’s Shortcake, Gregory. Have some respect,” Greg chuckled. “And I nicked myself shaving while I was at John’s house. Apparently his daughter is a fan.”

Greg nodded. “I’ve missed you this past little while.” Mycroft looked up at him. “I know we didn’t really get together before this all happened, but I have always liked you and wanted to be your friend,” he smiled bashfully. “I didn’t really ask because, well, you’re busy and I was married and why would you wanna spend your time with some beat-down, old copper any way. But then time went on and we got together frequently to talk about Sherlock. You’re very funny, Mycroft and fun to be around. You care so much about your brother even if he,” Greg spoke a bit louder in case Sherlock was somehow still spying on them, “is a bit of a prick!”

Mycroft chuckled.

“I couldn’t help but fancy you, but more than anything, I wanted to be your friend. I wanted to be the person who when you’re in a terrible meeting you text me things like ‘get me out of here’ or something. And I wanted to be the person who when somebody says ‘who makes you laugh the most’ you think of me. I wanted to be there for you, Mycroft. Then this whole thing happened and I promised your brother that I’d look after you and instead I let my prick think for me and…” he exhaled a big gust of air, “you were so gorgeous that night. It wasn’t right of me and I did halfway attempt to stop it, but…” the end of his sentence hung heavy between them.

“I knew what I was doing, Gregory and I wanted it just as much as you did.”

“I know. I just feel bad, you know. I moved things too quickly. It’s part of what ruined my marriage.”

“Well, that and the fact that she cheated on you. Which I still don’t understand why she did. I certainly had no complaints from that night.”

Greg grinned. “It was good, wasn’t it.” Mycroft raised his eyebrow and nodded. “But that’s not the… anyway. I was too excited by everything and wanted to have it all at once and we moved too fast and a few years later it was like waking up. All of a sudden we were different people who wanted different things but we had already made these vows that we both tried to keep.” Mycroft opened his mouth to speak. “I tried a bit harder, but it’s in the past now.”

Mycroft sighed. “I’m not much better. I knew that if I let things progress the way they did, I would only hurt you. I had just wanted you for so long and you were there and available and wanting. I selfishly let myself have that time with you. I knew that I would pay for it later. I hated leaving your flat that night.”

“Mycroft? Could we… try again? Properly? If you just want to be friends then that’s what we’ll do, but I would like more. That night that we spent on my sofa was one of the happiest times of my life and not just because I was getting more action than I had in five months, but because I was with you and you were trusting me with something so precious. Getting to cuddle with you afterwards. I tell you, after you left, my couch has never felt so large and lonely.”

“Oh, Gregory,” Mycroft sighed. “Are you so sure you’d want me? I’m a very difficult man to deal with. You should see how frustrated my PA gets with me and she doesn’t have to worry about sharing a bed with me.”

“Weren’t you listening? Didn’t I make it clear how much I want to be with you? It would be my honour to take care of you as long as you don’t mind putting up with me.”

“‘Putting up with you’ doesn’t sound like a terrible hardship at all.” Mycroft smiled gently.

Greg grabbed his hands. “Is that ‘yes’, Mycroft? You’ll give me a chance?

“Only if you extend the same courtesy to me. I have a terrible fear that I’m going to muck this up.”

“I won’t let you.” With that, Greg pulled Mycroft into a sweet, chaste kiss.

“So, what are we now?” Mycroft asked when they pulled apart.

“Dating? Courting? For right now and then we’ll see how that goes and if you want we can upgrade to boyfriend status.”

Mycroft wrinkled his nose.“‘Boyfriend’ is a bit childish, don’t you think?”

“What else would you call it? ‘Partners’ has certain implications and I’m sorry, but I’m not introducing my friends to my ‘lover.’”

“I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Greg smiled and pulled him in for another kiss.

“Are you free tonight?” Greg asked when he pulled away.

“Yes. I believe so.”

“Good. Can I take you out for dinner?”

“I suppose I would be amenable to that,” he smirked.

“There’s a little Italian place ‘round the corner from my flat. Does a great eggplant parm. We could go there and catch a movie.”

“I think that’s a lovely idea. Can I give you a ride back to your office?” They both looked towards the main road to see the familiar black car sitting, waiting for them.

“I suppose since it was your nosy brother who made us move to the park, it would only be fair.”

Mycroft chuckled and Greg pulled him in for one last kiss before they made their way to the car together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. If for some reason you want to follow me on Tumblr, you can at theartstudentyouhate.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Greg go out for dinner and discuss things. And then they make out and stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. Quick warning here. This is where a child's death is mentioned and some of the details surrounding it including a sexual assault. If this bothers you, you may want to skip Greg and Mycroft going out for dinner and skip to them going to Greg's flat.

“I’ll see you tonight then, My.” Greg smiled at him. Mycroft remarked at how trusting he was even after all that he had done to the poor man.

“Yes, you will. Seven pm sound alright to you?”

“Sounds great, yeah.” Greg opened the door and turned around to leave when he turned back to face Mycroft. With a cheeky grin, he pulled Mycroft into another kiss. This one still chaste, but there was some lip nibbling and it lasted for awhile.

Mycroft came out of it in a bit of a daze. Greg gave a self-satisfied grin.

“7pm tonight, then. I’ll see you later, Mycroft.” Mycroft smiled back and nodded. Greg finally exited the car and walked towards his office. Mycroft chuckled at the added swagger to his step. 

He tapped on the privacy window and his driver pulled out to begin making their way back to Mycroft’s house.

***

The restaurant was a small, cozy affair. There was some Dean Martin song playing, but Mycroft couldn’t pay attention to it. Every time Gregory looked up at him, the candlelight sparkled in his endlessly deep, dark brown eyes.

“Mycroft.”

“Hmmm?”

“I said I checked the listings for the theatre tonight. They’re playing The Gilded Cockatoo at 9.”

“Oh,” Mycroft snapped back to the present. “That sounds lovely, Gregory.” 

Greg chuckled.“We don’t have to if you’re tired. You probably have to work tomorrow.”

Mycroft suddenly looked down at his meal. “No actually. I have some time off.”

“Well, that’s good. Give you a bit of a break.” Mycroft gave a small nod. “You don’t seem pleased. What happened?” 

Mycroft took a fortifying breath and met Greg’s eyes.“Anthea said that I must talk to somebody before I go back into work. I tried telling her that I had already talked to you and Sherlock and John, but I believe that she means a therapist. I am basically barred from going to work until I do.” 

Greg nodded.“You’ve gone to the therapist. It’s not so bad.”

“Gregory. It’s awful. The worst thing I can possibly think of is sitting in a room with a stranger and telling them about all of my faults.”

“That’s not just it, My. I’ve had to go talk to a therapist a few times. After some really bad cases. Those things can really mess with your head. I get nightmares sometimes still from some of the cases I’ve been on. Talking to the therapist, I guess it helps because you’re not dealing with it alone. I don’t know. It was super difficult to talk at first for me, too. It wasn’t until after one of my first cases with Sherlock that I decided to go.” 

“What convinced you?”

“Sherlock did actually.” Greg bit his lip nervously and looked down at his pasta. “So, I had known Sherlock for a bit. Knew you too back then, actually. Well anyway, we were on this case. It wasn’t super difficult, but I was trying to keep Sherlock busy. He had been clean for a few months by then. It was this little girl, Daisy. She was murdered. I think she was five or six. A little tyke, you know. Well anyway, her mother and stepfather were beside themselves, of course. When we got the test reports back it turned out that she was… assaulted. Sexually. Well, a lot of my team was suspecting the stepfather and there was a lot of evidence pointing towards him, but Sherlock wasn’t. I thought it was best to listen to him. So while the rest of my team was putting together a case against the stepfather, Sherlock and I went out and tried to get more evidence. Well, we found out that it was a family friend. The parents were having a party that evening and the kid had gone to bed and he… snuck upstairs and... Well anyway, he confessed to the murder. And six others.”

Mycroft hesitantly inched his hand towards Greg’s on top of the table. Greg smiled gently and locked his fingers with Mycroft’s.

“Do you remember that time when Sherlock relapsed a few months after meeting me?” Mycroft nodded. “It was because of that case. She was just so small. You know how Sherlock acts at the crime scenes? Bigger than life. Flouncing around the room like there’s an audience. He wasn’t like that this time. He was very quiet. Carefully going over all of the evidence. I do remember how angry he got though when nobody would listen to him about it not being the stepfather. Well, it was a week or so after we got the confession. I hadn’t heard word from Sherlock, I was kind of wrapped up in my own stuff. Not really talking to anyone. Trying to self medicate. My wife wouldn’t talk to me about it. I guess she had somebody else by that point. But I hadn’t heard from him and he had been so quiet when he left that I worried. So, I made my way over to Montague street and I found him in the kitchen. Completely off his tits. When he noticed I was there, he broke down sobbing, babbling about how he couldn’t help that little girl. I held onto him, but I honestly wasn’t in a much better position. I couldn’t help Daisy either. When I wasn’t working I had been drinking. I couldn’t stop seeing her. She haunted my dreams. She still does sometimes.” 

Greg sniffed. Mycroft rubbed the back of Greg’s hand.

“I saw how broken up Sherlock was and he wouldn’t go to anyone else for help. I knew that I had to help him and in order to do that, I had to get better. So, I made an appointment with the therapist. I left the waiting room before I even got in their office. But I knew that wasn’t going to help Sherlock, so I made another appointment and I forced myself to go in. That first time it didn’t seem like we accomplished much, talked about the weather and what kind of hobbies I have.”

Mycroft’s lip twitched at the memory of his first appointment.

“But that way, we became acquainted with each other and I felt more comfortable talking to them and then… we just talked about what happened and how to move forward. It was ok by then, I guess.”

“I suppose that seems reasonable.”

“I didn’t really have any friends at that point. There were coworkers I might have a pint with. Sherlock sure as hell couldn’t help me and my wife was nowhere to be seen really. It was almost like having a friend to talk to about it, even though we weren’t really.”

“Gregory. I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have been alone. I shouldn’t have let you be alone.”

“Wasn’t your fault.”

“I wanted to talk to you so badly. I always loved your company at our meetings.”

“Kidnappings.” Greg huffed out a chuckle. Mycroft smirked.

“Yes, well… Well the truth is that it hurt to be so close to you and yet so far. I knew what your wife was doing, it was obvious, but you were a better man than that. Even if I offered you’d never have accepted. So, I kept my distance. Even if it meant that you were alone in your time of need. I was a coward. I’m such a coward.”

Greg grasped Mycroft’s hand in both of his. “What? Mycroft, no! You are not a coward. You’re right in that I wouldn’t have accepted any advances while I was married, no matter how much I may have wanted to. And while I may have wanted you there as a friend, it would’ve been difficult on me as well because honestly, My, I wasn’t lying when I said that I’ve wanted you for ages. I wanted you when I wasn’t supposed to want you. Trying to keep order and retain sense while dealing with feelings that defy logic is a very brave thing to do. My?”

Mycroft gulped and gave a short, sharp nod.

“Why don’t we skip the movie this evening? We could go back to my place. Just to talk. Please?”

“Yes, Gregory,” he whispered.

Greg signalled for the check and paid. Hand in hand, they walked back to Greg’s flat.

***

Mycroft sat stiffly on the couch, waiting for Greg to return with the coffee he was making.

He looked up as Greg entered the room.

“Two and two,” he said as he placed the mug in front of Mycroft. Greg sat in the middle of the couch to be closer to him.

“Thank you,” he murmured in return.

“My. I am so sorry about what you had to go through that day. It was awful and nobody should ever have to go through it and it’s breaking my heart that you’re blaming yourself for this.”

“But it was my fault. All my fault. I tried to use my unstable sister to help my career and I ended up hurting so many people. People were killed that day, Gregory and it’s because of my selfish actions. Sherlock originally wanted me to be the one to kill the governor and I… I couldn’t do it. I hid in the corner like a scared little child and because of that, not only did he die, but his wife did, too.”

“That’s because of your sister. Not because of you. You may have let her talk to Moriarty, but she is such a genius that I’m sure she would’ve done this without him. What has happened has happened, but I promise that I will be here to help you move forward.” Greg sighed and took a sip of his coffee. “I think it would help you if you talked to a therapist.”

“I can’t, Gregory. I can’t go sit in that room alone staring at her writing notes about how I answer her questions about the weather.” 

“Then maybe you shouldn’t go alone. I, I could go with you if you’d like.”

“I couldn’t ask that…”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. I’ll go with you. Going alone to the first few sessions was terrifying and I would have given anything to have somebody that I knew and trusted there. I could be there for you, My. I want to be there for you.”

Mycroft licked his bottom lip. “You are so kind, Gregory. I don’t deserve you.”

Greg reached up and cupped his cheek, his palm warm from holding his mug. “You deserve better, Mycroft, but I’ll do the very best I can.” With that he pulled him into a kiss.

Mycroft sighed and wrapped his arms around Greg’s waist, pulling him closer. Wanting to feel safe surrounded by Greg.

Greg was warm, but the tip of his nose was slightly cold against Mycroft’s. His large hand still cradled Mycroft’s cheek, his other hand pressed against Mycroft’s back, trying to pull him closer as well. His lips parted slightly and Mycroft could taste coffee against his lips.

Part of Mycroft wanted to run away, because surely he didn’t deserve anyone as wonderful, as lovely, as kind as Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, but Greg had insisted that he wanted Mycroft as well. He had promised Mycroft that he would be there and it seemed that there would be no scaring the man off. Besides, if Gregory reacted anything like the last time Mycroft left, Mycroft was sure that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself putting the man through that twice. It seemed that the only solution was to try make a relationship work between the two of them.  

Greg pulled away slightly, “Will you stay tonight? We won’t do anything, just sleep.” He bit his lip, looking at Mycroft nervously.

Mycroft’s apparently icy heart melted looking into those big brown eyes, so much uncertainty flashing through them. “Yes. I’d like that,” he pecked Gregory on the lips, “thank you.”

Greg’s smile lit up the room. He jumped off the couch and held out a hand for Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled a very genuine smile in response and placed his hand in Gregory’s. They walked towards Greg’s bedroom.

“I’ll get you those pyjamas you wore last time. They should be nice and clean.” Greg said into the drawer he was looking through. 

Mycroft wasn’t really paying attention. Instead he walked up behind Greg and wrapped his arms around him, terribly excited that this was now something that he was allowed to do. Greg sighed and leaned back against Mycroft. He could feel the pulse in his neck against the smile on his lips.“I don’t necessarily have to wear any pyjamas to bed, Gregory.” He nuzzled the sensitive spot behind Greg’s ear.

“Mmm. That’s very tempting Mycroft.” Greg turned around in Mycroft’s arms. “But I really do think we should wait. Not for too long, but just until we get settled a bit more.”

Mycroft’s light blue eyes pierced Greg’s dark brown ones. He sighed and rested his forehead against Greg’s.

"I will respect that, but I must admit that it will be difficult to keep my hands to myself.”

“I never said you had to keep your hands entirely to yourself. In fact, I’m rather against that notion. There’s plenty of other things we can do.”

“Such as?”

“Come on. Don’t you remember being a teenager and making out until it felt like your lips were about to fall off? Or giving someone a hickey and thinking that it was the sexiest thing you could possibly do?”

“No I don’t remember doing any of those things. I wasn’t a very popular teenager and I was too busy hiding away in the library.”

“Wish I would’ve known you when we were teenagers. I bet you were so cute.”

“Oh. You haven’t seen the pictures and you never will.” Mycroft attempted his most threatening eyebrow raise.

“You should’ve seen me as a teenager. I was that punk twerp that was always getting in trouble for violating the dress code and had a motorcycle and would spike my hair. That was before I became an old man and it all turned grey.” Mycroft ran his fingers through said grey hair. “I’d’ve never been in your league but I damn well would’ve tried to get your attention. You’d have been holed up in the library and I’d be trying to distract you.”

“I promise you, you wouldn’t.” Not that Mycroft didn’t love the idea of a young, punk Greg trying to charm the pants off of a young, overweight, unconfident Mycroft.

“I can see it now. Me, taking you home from school on the back of my bike and scaring the wits out of your mother and showing up outside your window after dark to sneak you out of the house so we could snog under the stars.”

Mycroft’s heart melted, even if he was positive that it wasn’t true.“That all sounds quite romantic.”

“I was quite the charmer.”

“A trait you haven’t lost.”

Greg smirked. 

“So, whaddya say, Mr. Holmes? Fancy snogging like a couple of teenagers?” 

“I don’t know. You sound like the type my mother warned me about.”

“But isn’t that half the thrill?” 

Mycroft smiled and brought Greg’s face towards his. It was difficult to kiss while smiling, but it was worth it. Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s neck and walked him back towards the bed.

Mycroft fell back on the mattress that wasn’t as comfortable as his, but the comforting weight of Greg on top of him more than made up for it. “This is hardly under the stars, Gregory,” he said as Greg loosened his tie and undid the top three buttons.

“Haven’t got a backyard to secret you away to,” Greg replied as he mouthed at Mycroft’s neck. Instead of replying, Mycroft wrapped his arms tighter around Greg and tangled their legs together.

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other for a long while. Making out like the teenagers that Mycroft never was. Finally, when their tongues and jaws grew too sore to continue, they pulled back but stayed close. Almost as if they were both afraid that if one of them let go, the other would leave. Mycroft looked at Greg’s kiss swollen lips and rumpled shirt and was unabashedly proud that it was he who was responsible for that. There was also a lovebite on Gregory's neck and Mycroft secretly did think it was one of the sexiest things ever. Greg smiled at him and tugged at him so that Mycroft was curled up to his side, head resting on his chest.

Mycroft closed his eyes, breathing in the comforting scent of Greg and listening to his steady heartbeat.  

“Pretty sure that was even better then when I was a teenager. I didn’t have to worry about Mum walking in and catch me snogging some cute guy.” Mycroft chuckled. “Wish I still had that bike though. Could’ve taken you for a ride around London.”

Mycroft raised himself up slightly to better see Greg. “You don’t have a motorcycle anymore?”

“Damn. I knew you only wanted me for my bike,” he smiled. 

Mycroft laid back down.“Why did you get rid of it?”

“It was an old machine even when I first got it. It couldn’t really be repaired anymore. So I had to get rid of it. By that time, I was seeing Caitlin and it was getting serious, so I had to get a proper adult vehicle.”

“I don’t remember reading any laws that say once you get in a serious relationship you have to give up your motorcycles. If there is, then I’ll make a note to change that as soon as possible.” Mycroft could almost feel Greg smirk, though he was facing away from him.

“Just wasn’t practical, really. When you’re a kid, you just wanna look cool and go fast. But then you grow up and need to have a car that can carry groceries and get you and your wife from point a to point b without having to put up with helmet hair or finding a way to keep your clothes dry when it’s raining. She also didn’t like the fact that she couldn’t really wear a skirt on the motorcycle.”

“I suppose that’s fair, but I also think it’s a travesty that you don’t have a motorcycle.”

“That desperate to ride one?” Greg chuckled.

“You could be the punk rock police officer that helps me sneak out of boring meetings so that we could ride around London,” and while that was a very lovely thought, Mycroft mainly wanted to be able to watch Greg drive around the city, wearing his leather jacket and perhaps some leather trousers (although denim jeans would probably look just as good) on the cctv, but Gregory probably didn’t need to know that.

“Well, I think Dimmock’s got one and he owes me a favour. There just maybe a possibility for it soon.” Mycroft didn’t think it necessary to voice his thoughts about getting Greg his own motorcycle aloud. 

“We should probably get some proper pyjamas on.” Greg said after a few moments of comfortable silence. Mycroft nodded and slowly got up.

Greg made a sound like he was sticking the landing of a particularly difficult gymnastics move and heaved himself off of the bed before making his way back towards the dresser. He tossed Mycroft the pyjamas and Mycroft made his way to the washroom to change and clean his teeth. The toothbrush he had used the last time was still in the medicine cabinet. The sight of it brought a smile to his face.

When he returned to the bedroom, Greg, clad in his own pyjamas, went to clean his teeth. Mycroft used the opportunity to crawl into bed, plug in his phone and set the notifications so that only something earth shattering would come through.

Greg walked back into the room, looking deliciously cuddly in his soft pyjamas and worn band t shirt. He crawled into bed and didn’t hesitate in wrapping around Mycroft.

Mycroft turned off the lamp and settled in.

“Gregory?” He whispered, though he didn’t really know why. “Were you serious when you said that you’d go to the therapist with me?”

“Of course.” He could feel Greg’s breath hot against his shoulder blade.

“I’ll ask Anthea to make an appointment. When would work best for you?”

“Day after next is my day off, if that’s good for you.”

“Yes, that sounds fine.” Mycroft nodded and sent a text to Anthea before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep. 

***

“Mr. Holmes. It’s good to see you again.” Dr. Narang sat down and crossed her legs. “You’ve brought someone along with you, I see.”

“Yes. Doctor Narang, this is Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Gregory, this is Doctor Narang.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you. You can just call me ‘Greg.’” Greg smiled and nodded his head in greeting.

“So, are you the Batman fan?” 

Greg huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. I suppose I am.” Mycroft felt his cheeks redden slightly. 

“It was very kind of you to accompany Mr. Holmes today.”

“Well, I wanted to help my friend.” Doctor Narang looked pointedly at Mycroft.

“Yes. Gregory is my… friend.”

“That’s good. Having people who are willing to help you is important.” Mycroft absentmindedly reached for Greg’s hand. Greg thread their fingers together. “And you’re willing to help, Greg?”

“Of course.” Greg tightened his grip.

Doctor Narang looked at their hands.

“Though, I suppose we are a bit more than friends.” Mycroft said quietly, avoiding eye contact. 

Doctor Narang crooked a smile. “I’m sure your mother will be pleased.”

“It’s early days yet.” He still wouldn’t look her in the eye.

“So, your assistant told me that you asked to set up this appointment. Was there anything that you wanted to talk about?”

Mycroft took a fortifying breath. “Last time I was here, you said that you wanted to know more about what happened that day. At Sherrinford.” She nodded. Mycroft took another breath. Greg switched which hand he was using to hold Mycroft’s to be able to wrap his arm around his shoulder. Mycroft pulled his lips into a tight line before beginning to recount the events of that horrible day.

When he got to the end, they sat for a moment in silence. Doctor Narang hadn’t bothered to take any notes, instead sitting quietly, listening. Greg sat silently, not taking his eyes off of Mycroft and not loosening his grip on his hand or around his shoulders. Mycroft didn’t look at either of them as he told his story.

Finally, Doctor Narang shifted and switched over her crossed legs. The pink spots appearing on her legs again.

“You went through a very traumatic ordeal.” Mycroft huffed out a sarcastic chuckle.

“Yes. I suppose I did.” 

Greg wrapped his arm tighter around him.

“It’s natural to feel guilty, but at some point you will have to realise that this isn’t actually your fault. You are a good man, Mycroft. You care so much about the people in your life that you were literally willing to die for them.”

“Could just be to atone for my mistakes.”

“But it wasn’t, was it? You would have done it, even if you hadn’t let your sister talk to Moriarty. Because you care about your brother and the people that are important in your brother’s life.”

“Honestly. He’s a big softy. I keep trying to tell him.” Greg smiled softly.

“I always knew it. It’s just a matter of convincing him of it as well.” She grinned. Greg gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Mycroft flushed and stared at the ground, but couldn’t stop the smile on his face.

“So, any other plans for the day?”

“I was going to take him out to dinner and a movie. The theatre by my place is showing his favourite.”

“Oh. Which movie is that?”

Greg grinned. “Lady be Bad. You ever heard of it?”

“That’s my Mother’s favourite,” she beamed. “You are full of surprises, Mr. Holmes. Never would have pegged you for a film noir romance type.” Mycroft turned beet red. “Well, I hope you two have a lovely evening, but if you’ll excuse me, I do need to get ready for my next appointment. We went a bit over our time today.”

With that, all three of them stood up.

“I’m sorry to have kept you late, Doctor.”

“Not at all, Mr. Holmes. You enjoy your movie. Shall we make another appointment for next week?”

“Yes. I suppose that would be a wise idea. I’ll have my assistant contact you.”

“Very well then, I’ll see you next week.” 

They had turned around and were about to leave when she called out, “Oh. And Mr. Holmes?” He turned back to face her. “Do try to remember that you do deserve some nice things.” She looked pointedly at Greg’s back. Mycroft smiled.

“I will. I’ll see you next week, Doctor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! One more chapter to go and then I guess I'll have to figure out something else to write. Yeesh. As always, thank you to Beltainefaerie and Hums-Happily for betaing and to Janto321 for being so supportive. Thanks to everyone who commented. I'm glad that none of you were around to hear me squeal in delight over how sweet they all were.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Greg are finally happy... let's celebrate with porn.

The weeks went on, as they tend to do. Mycroft continued going for weekly visits to his therapist. They would talk about all sorts of things, the weather, how Gregory was doing, how he was doing. Mycroft was frustrated that he would still have some very dark days, when the temptation to close himself off again and hide behind his desk was almost too much to bear. Those days when Gregory would have to assure him that no, he wasn’t being ridiculous or needy and that yes, he was going to stay right here until he felt better. Those days when Greg would wrap Mycroft up in the softest blanket he could find, tell him that it was “okay to feel like this” and cuddle and rock him gently. Then Gregory would let Mycroft choose some of his favourite plasters and would help him put them wherever Mycroft felt they would best help because the very serious and businesslike Mycroft Holmes liked looking at the colourful, silly plasters and being reminded that there were people in the world that wanted to take care of him.

His therapist could tell when he had had a bad day by how many she could spot; usually one or two wrapped around his fingers, maybe another on his wrist or neck, sometimes more. Recently they had talked about him going on a medication to try and help balance out these bad days. At first, Mycroft had staunchly refused, claiming that some mere chemical imbalance wasn’t the cause of this. Secretly, Mycroft was nervous. Nervous at what the people he cared about would think, nervous about the listed side effects, but mostly he was terrified at what it might do to his brain. It had taken a few weeks to finally make that shaky confession to Greg, who after the third day in a row of having to comfort Mycroft had asked why he wouldn’t go on any pills. It was with Gregory’s borrowed confidence that he asked Doctor Narang how the pills might affect him personally.

After assuring him that they wouldn’t make him lose any brain power or anything of the sort, Mycroft was slowly coming around to the idea, provided he could properly research all of the pills and come to his own decision.

After one particularly long day at the office, Mycroft placed his brolly in the umbrella stand by the door and hung up his coat and scarf on the coat hook. He could hear Gregory rummaging around in the kitchen and smiled, glad he had given him a key.

“I’m in here, love!”

Mycroft smiled and made his way towards the kitchen.

Greg beamed at him as he walked in the doorway. “Look. I figured I’d try my hand at cooking something,” he smiled proudly.

“Yes. I can see. It smells good. What is it?”

“Nothing really. There wasn’t too much in the pantry, but you did have some tofu in the fridge from the last shopping trip and some rice and I found some spices… I’m not sure how old they are, but they smelled all right. You also had some frozen peas, so I decided to try make a stir fry.”

Ever since the first time Greg had seen just how empty Mycroft’s kitchen was, he made a solemn vow to keep at least the necessities in stock.

Mycroft opened the wine cupboard and selected a bottle of red wine that should suit whatever it was his Gregory was cooking.

“Any plans for this evening?” Mycroft asked while rummaging through the drawer for the corkscrew.

“No. I was hoping we could have a quiet night in if that’s ok with you. Maybe put a film on while we eat this before we call it a night.”

“That’s a marvelous plan, my darling. You always have the brightest ideas.” Mycroft leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Will you be staying over tonight?” He unwrapped the bottle and began twisting in the corkscrew.

“Only if you want me too. I did bring a spare change of clothes, just in case.”

“You know you are always… ugh blast… ah.” The cork came free. “Always welcome to stay. I believe I have some room in my closet or space in my drawer if that would suit you.”

Greg looked over his shoulder and grinned at Mycroft. “That sounds lovely, but we can discuss it a bit more over dinner.” Mycroft frowned slightly but decided not to push the issue.

Pulling the needed glasses and plates out of the cupboard he let the wine breathe a few moments before pouring it while Greg readied the two plates.

“Any film you had in mind?” Mycroft asked while they carried their food to the little theatre room.

“Wouldn’t mind one of yours tonight. Cozy up in front of a black and white picture as this weather gets a bit cooler.” Mycroft set his food on the table and made his way over to the film reels and selected ‘Lady be Bad.’

Since he and Gregory had made this sort of evening a fairly regular occurrence, Mycroft had brought in a love seat to make their film nights more comfortable. As he took a seat, Greg snuggled in closer and they both dug into their food.

“It’s quite good, Gregory.” Mycroft said after he took a sip of wine.

“I didn’t cook the rice enough.” Greg poked at his stir fry with his fork.

“Well… I mean… it’s still good. You’ll get it next time, I’m sure.” Greg set his plate down and finished off the last sip of his wine before cuddling in even closer to Mycroft. Mycroft in turn finished off the last few bites of his meal before setting down his plate and wrapping his arms around Gregory.

“More wine, my dear?”

Greg turned slightly so he could wrap his arms around Mycroft’s middle and pulled his feet onto the couch.

“That would require you getting up, so no thank you.” Mycroft ran his hand up and down Gregory’s back.

“Gregory?”

“Yes, My?”

“Would you at all be interested in keeping a few things here? You spend a fair amount of time here, which is good. I like that you’re here and… and I just think… it would be easier on you if you kept a few sets of clothes or something. Here. To stay.”

Greg placed his right hand on Mycroft’s chest and looked up at him. “I’m so glad that you like me coming over and I would love to take that next step, I’m just worried about moving too fast with you.” Mycroft bit his lip.

“Well, I just thought that as we have been seeing each other for a few months now and with you over here so often…” however he was going to finish that sentence was lost as Greg silenced him with a kiss.

“I can see that you’ve put a lot of thought into this and it would make me very happy to take up a bit more space in your life, if that’s what you want.”

“It’s only the tip of the iceberg of what I want, but it’s a fantastic start.” Mycroft wrapped his hand around the back of Gregory’s neck to bring him in for another kiss.

They stayed that way for a while, sharing soft kisses and enjoying the closeness before Gregory pulled back.

“Well, this sounds like something to celebrate and if we’re going to do that I wouldn’t mind moving somewhere more comfortable. I’m liable to get a crick in my neck at this angle.”

“You know how well known I am for celebrating and joining in the revelry.”

“Yes. The stories known far and wide about Mycroft Holmes, the party animal.” With a final kiss, Greg got off the couch and pulled Mycroft up as well.

After Mycroft carefully made sure to turn off the projector, he took hold of Gregory’s hand and followed him up the stairs to his bedroom.

With the door closed and the rest of the world shut out, Mycroft sat on the bed and tipped his head up to receive more kisses from Gregory.

“This is a bit more comfortable, don’t you think?” Gregory asked as he pulled Mycroft’s tie from under his waistcoat, deftly untying it.

“What about _my_ neck?”

“What about your neck?” Greg said before placing a small series of kisses along his collar. Mycroft tipped his head to the side.

“I’ve no idea, though perhaps if I could unbutton my collar.”

“It is getting quite warm in here.” Gregory flashed his cheekiest smile. Mycroft rolled his eyes even as his hands moved to his collar to undo the top few buttons.

As soon as they were open, Greg batted his hands out of the way and moved in to begin kissing his neck again, pushing him to lie back on the bed. He gently nibbled and sucked at Mycroft’s elegant neck as he began unbuttoning his waistcoat.

Mycroft moaned and ran his hands through Gregory’s hair that he loved so much.

It had taken quite a while for Gregory to first be convinced that they could add this sort of intimacy to their relationship. Mycroft patiently waited and worked to prove that he wouldn’t run off like he had before. The first time it happened, they had gone to their now regular spot for dinner and went to see the old film that was playing at the theatre. That time they were playing Laura with Gene Tierney and Dana Andrews. A film noir to end all film noirs. Murder, mistaken identity, and Dana Andrews wearing a fedora and calling Gene Tierney’s character a ‘dame,’ which always made Mycroft’s knees go a bit weak (even if it did set feminism back quite a few decades.) Afterwards, Greg had invited Mycroft into his flat for a nightcap and it must have been some point during Greg’s Dana Andrews impression that the mood changed and Mycroft soon found himself rather in the same position he was in now, on Gregory’s bed.

That first night had been so warm and tender. Gregory was beyond compassionate with him. It was the very definition of the term ‘making love’ even if they hadn’t used that word yet. Mycroft wouldn’t lie and say that he hadn’t felt a need to flee, but Gregory had been sweet and patient, reminding him that everything was all alright and that there was no need to worry about anything because they were in this together and Gregory wanted to be there.

Gregory was still sweet and patient with him, but the same could not always be said for his clothing.

“Jesus, Mycroft. You know how I love your suits, but my God it’s always a lot of layers to unwrap you,” he wrestled Mycroft’s jacket and waistcoat off and tossed it somewhere behind him on the floor. Mycroft was again thankful that he had recently purchased a handheld fabric steamer for all of the wrinkles his suits were going to get.

“The anticipation, Darling. It’s half the fun.”

“Oh, is that so?” Greg slipped his leg in between Mycroft’s and let him grind against his thigh for the briefest of moments.

“Well, maybe not half,” he said rather breathlessly. Greg grinned and worked at removing Mycroft’s bloody sleeve garters.

After those had been removed, Mycroft decided it was time to pay some attention to Greg and began unbuttoning his shirt as he leaned up to steal more kisses, nibbling at his bottom lip as he pulled the shirt from his trousers. It then seemed to be mutually decided that Greg would attack the buttons on Mycroft’s shirt while Mycroft would undo Gregory’s flies. Of course, opening one button and unzipping a short zipper took a lot less time than undoing an entire shirt, so Mycroft was left with plenty of time to distract Greg by massaging him through his pants.

“So help me God, Mycroft, I swear I will soon have you naked if I have to rip the bloody clothes off you.” Oh. That really shouldn’t be as appealing as that was. Mycroft, very embarrassingly, moaned.

Enough with the anticipation. Anticipation was overrated anyway. He needed Gregory now dammit. Gripping Greg’s trousers at the waist, he impatiently began tugging them down. He got them to mid-thigh before Greg jumped off the bed to take matters into his own hands, stripping off both his trousers and pants in one fell swoop before diving in to divest Mycroft of his own trousers.

Finally, both as naked as anyone could be, Greg climbed back on top of Mycroft, kissing him as if there was no greater joy to be found than tasting his lips. Mycroft bucked up his hips, searching for Greg.

“Ah, ah, ah. You wanted antici....pation.”

 _Damn._ He knew that was going to come back and bite him.

He growled as he pulled Gregory to him for another kiss. The oh-so-recognizable scent of leather and coffee and tobacco surrounded him. Gregory’s very mobile tongue tasted of the wine they’d had with dinner. His aching cock twitched desperately for attention. No more playing fair. He reached out and tugged Gregory’s hair.

“Fucking hell, My,” Greg yelped, diving back into mark Mycroft’s neck, completely avoiding touching his cock. Mycroft whimpered.

“Gre… Gregory, please. Do something. More. Please.” Maybe begging would work.

“What happened to ‘The anticipation, darling,’” Greg cooed. “‘It’s half the fun.’”

“That’s only half! I want more fun. All of the fun.”

“Well… I suppose since you asked so nicely,” Greg said before wrapping his hand around Mycroft’s cock and giving it one long stroke. Mycroft shivered and his moan could almost rattle the windows with the volume. Greg pulled off and leaned over, pulling open the drawer in the side table, taking a ridiculously long time looking for the lube they both knew was one of maybe three of the things they kept in that drawer.

Mycroft was about ready to strangle him.

“All right, Love? You seem a bit tetchy. We can stop if you want,” Greg said teasingly, although his flushed red cock betrayed just how little that idea appealed to him.

Mycroft reached out and stroked said cock. “I’d rather continue, if it’s all the same to you.”

Greg’s breath stuttered and he paused to rest his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, Mycroft smirking over the top of his head.

“We… ugh… we can… Christ… do that. Sure.” Greg took a stabilizing breath before pulling back gently gripping Mycroft’s wrist and rather unhappily dragged it away from his prick. Mycroft attempted to smirk at him, but it came out as more of a genuine, soft smile. Gregory grinned back. “I’ll just get you ready, shall I?”

“If you’d be so kind,” Mycroft said, sliding back on the bed and bending his knees to give Greg more room.

“Lovely. You’re always so helpful.”

“We all have to pull our own weight, now and again.” He eyed Gregory who was busy slicking up his fingers.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he replied as lowered himself slightly and gently ran his middle finger around Mycroft’s rim. Mycroft released a shaky breath. “So responsive, my darling.” He thumbed at one of Mycroft’s nipples.

Slowly, his finger breached Mycroft’s hole, sliding in to the first knuckle. Mycroft gripped at the sheets.

God, how he loved this feeling, when Gregory would first breach him and there was nothing else that mattered besides the two of them. Looking up at Greg through hooded eyes, he parted his lips slightly. Greg, being as clever as he was, took the hint and leaned down for a kiss as he continued to work him open.

Gregory slipped in a second finger and Mycroft moaned low in his chest. When he crooked his fingers slightly, unerringly finding his prostate, Mycroft arched off of the bed and released a high pitched whine. Greg moaned in sympathy.

Mycroft reached up and cupped Greg’s cheek. “Please, Gregory. I need you.” He could feel Greg’s low-pitched grunt vibrate through his chest before Greg kissed him and carefully removed his fingers. Always so gentle.

He could feel Greg gently begin to push in. He ran his hand up Gregory’s back reassuringly before the head popped inside. Gregory paused and waited a moment before Mycroft impatiently urged him on.

Slowly, Greg slid in until he bottomed out. Again, pausing a moment to let Mycroft adjust.

“Move, Gregory. Please,” he pleaded.

Greg pulled back until he had almost pulled free completely before smoothly pushing back in again.They moaned together.

With every thrust, Greg seemed to speed up just a touch more until he was setting an almost punishing pace. Mycroft gripped at Greg’s shoulder blades. The only friction his poor, untouched cock found was that of being pressed between the two of them.

“Mycroft.” Greg panted. “Touch yourself. Come. Now.”

Mycroft raced to work his hand between them to grab hold of his cock and scarcely gave it three strokes before coming, moaning decadently.

“Oh, Christ, My!” Greg howled before finishing himself.

Greg’s head lay heavily on Mycroft’s chest. Somewhere, in the back of his head, he wondered if Greg could not only hear his heartbeat, but feel it too.

They lay there, panting and trying to come back to their senses before Gregory carefully pulled out and rolled over to lay next to him.

“That was quite the celebration for simply agreeing to take up some of your closet space. God help us if we move in together.” They both burst out laughing.

When they settled down, Greg jumped up off the bed and made his way to the en suite. He came back with a warm cloth and gently cleaned Mycroft before tossing it in the general direction of the hamper and settling in under the covers beside Mycroft, running a hand through the hair on his chest. Mycroft wriggled his arm under and around Greg and sighed.

They laid there enjoying the peace and quiet happiness that surrounded them. There would be dark days and times when the guilt would return and try to drown him, but Gregory was here beside him and he had made it clear that he wasn’t leaving. Sherlock was happy. John was happy. Little Rosie would surely grow up happy and he and Gregory could lie here and be happy too.

Just one more thing would make this night perfect.

“Gregory?”

“Yes?”

“... I love you.”

He could feel Gregory smile against his chest.

“I love you, too.”

There. Perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY!!! We made it to the end. I hope you all enjoyed it. Thanks to all of the lovely comments and thanks again to my amazing betas Beltainfaerie and Hums-Happily and to Janto321 for being so supportive. I have no idea what to write next so I guess we'll just have to wait and see.
> 
> Also, if you want to follow me on tumblr, you are more than welcome to at theartstudentyouhate.
> 
> Much love!


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